Armored Heart
by Primary
Summary: Rowena Cousland loses the duel against Loghain at the Landsmeet and the Wardens are imprisoned while Loghain rallies his forces and marches to deal with the darkspawn forces once and for all. Alistair/Cousland. Rated M for some implicit suggestions. Please read and review. /Newly updated chapters 1,2, 4-8. Part one completed.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: DA and the setting is the property of Bioware. **_Please read and review.

Chapter 1.

Rowena Cousland regains consciousness just in time to see Arl Eamon die.

He slumps forward, his right hand clutching his ribs as blood oozes over his iron clad fingers and spills in a thick stream down his side and to the floor. There is a sickening, slurping sound as the blade is yanked in a vicious arch upwards, twisted around and then yanked out. The old Arl shudders and coughs, blood spraying across her face. He kneels, and then slumps forward, his head hitting the floor with a vicious crack.

Rowena freezes still in the vacuum that follows, as if Arl Eamon has sucked all sound and air out of the hall with his dying breath. Her limbs feels cumbersome and sluggish, and it takes all her strength to make it to the Arl´s side and she helplessly places a hand on his back.

Rowena glances to Alistair through slitted eyes, her own breath suddenly growing heavy in her lungs, stifling any words of anguish before they even reached her lips. _We lost,_ she thinks hazily, her own blades sliding from her defeated grasp. They rattle to the floor, the sound unnecessary loud.

"Take the Grey Wardens away. When we have won the battle against the darkspawn, they will be executed."

Her vision dances in a sickening array of bright colors and she feels tears brush salt and blood down her chin to her lips. Strong fingers clamps around her arm and the floor suddenly grows distant as she is yanked to her feet.

"What about the others?"

"They can join me as we bring our banners to the darkspawn horde and fight with honor, or rot away in the prison, the choice is theirs." Comes the grated answer from across the room.

Rowena doesn´t move as her mind flickers through all her options. She can still summon some strength. She Knows there is more force in her elbow than in her fist, that the neck, the nose or the temple are the weak spots. She knows that if she presses her foot hard down on the man's thighs she can immobilize him, if only for a moment. She knows that that an equally strong pressure on his neck or chest can kill him.

_Fight. _A small voice urges. _Move. Do something. _

Iron snaps around her wrists and a guard pulls her hands to her back and secured them.

"The Landsmeet is over. If anybody else cares to join these Grey Wardens speak now, I shall broker no threats or attempts of vainglory from any. The darkspawn is our foe and only united shall we be victorious!"

Loghain's voice slices through the silent hall, and eager voices murmurs in agreement. Life is suddenly restored to the hall and she heard the distant shuffling of feet as people start moving again.

His heavy cloak brushes over the floorboards as Loghain crosses the distance to the throne in smooth graceful motions. She thinks he looks like a great cat awakening and stretching its powerful limps and claws. He takes a seat glaring down at her, anger still lurks in his eyes as he regrades her with sullen distance.

Rowena twists her head to the right, averting her gaze but she sees Anora instead, standing next to her father, sapphire blue eyes in a pale face, her sharp teeth visible as she smiled. Wynne is standing by the far end of the hall, two tiny droplets of tears clinging to her trembling eyelashes. Behind her is Leliana, wringing her hands.

"Rowena!"

Alistair's voice is thick with grief and he pulls against the arms restraining him. His eyes lock on hers, searching, and pleading.

_I'm sorry! _Rowena glances away from his brown eyes, pushing her gaze to the floor, to the tip of her boots, water stinging her eyes. _I'm so sorry._

The guards drag her forward and she stumbles after them. A few paces behind Alistair follows, cursing and fighting against his captors.

She cannot avoid looking at Arl Eamon's body as the guards leads her out off the hall. Blood is still pooling under his body. She spots Teagan at the edge of the crowd, Isolde is clawing on his arm and heavy sobs rocks her body.

And then she is escorted across the city towards the prison and through its tall halls to a cell, very similar to the one she has just escaped from. They are pushed into the cell, stumbling to the floor. The door is slammed shut behind them with a deafening clang, keys rattling as the locks clicks in place.

And then it is silent and utterly dark again.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See the prologue. Please read and review. Rated M for some implicit suggestions.

**Chapter 2.**

Rowena is dimly aware that Alistair was grasping her shoulders and shaking her hard, trying to stir her back to reality. But her mind swam with red and her body felt numbed and the only thing she was aware of was the sound of her own heart-beat roaring in her ears.

Her thoughts scatters away, darting into some deep, warm corner of her mind where her parents were still alive, where Oriana and Fergus were safe, little Oren running about the castle- where they were all together at Highever. She wanted to stay in this memory, tucked away in the warmth of her mother's arms and her father's love. She wished, not for the first time by far, that Duncan had not dragged her away from Highever that night when Howe´s men attacked. She should have stayed and died with her parents. Then she would know no Blight, no darkspawn and no Archdemon, and nobody depending on her for their survival.

Suddenly her vision re-solidifies, hurtling her back to reality. She sees Alistair, looking at her, fear incarnated in his usual mirth-filled eyes.

"You hit me." She says.

"I am sorry" Alistair murmurs and reaches out a hand to touch her chin where redness is spreading across her skin as blood rushes through the thin veins. His touch feels like a spider´s chittering down her spine and she shudders, pulling away from him. His lips thins in growing concern.

Rowena pushes herself to her feet and habitually brushes some dust off her leather leggings, surveying the room with the apprehension. Their cell is small, barley wider than the length of her arms if she spreads them out, and high upon the wall, several meters above them, is a small, slated window that emits a thin stream of grey light.

"We're in Fort Drakon" Alistair offers unhelpfully.

"I could have guessed" Rowena replies brusquely "Thank you for stating the obvious."

Alistair's hands clenches into brief fists and his eyes narrows to slits. "This is all your-" he starts, in the same tone of voice he had used when he confronted her about Connor's death at his mother's hands.

"- my fault?" Rowena snarls defensively, spinning around to face him.

"That's not…." He continues, his voice laced with aggravation and Rowena thinks he´s trying to contain his anger. But he his true feelings are evident in his brown, condescending glare.

"You were the one who suddenly decided to rise "to responsibility" of being king after insisting ever since Redcliff that you never wanted the throne. Where did this sudden ambition come from? If not for you, Anora might have remained Queen and we'd have our army to face the Archdemon with."

Alistair presses his lips together to a thin, white line, clenching and unclenching his fist as he absorbed this. Finally he speaks again, with such thick malice that Rowena is certain he no longer is the same the same man she has travelled with since Ostagar.

"She tried to have us all killed! How can you just ignore that!"

"And you could not see the bigger picture. What did her feint play at political prowess matter if we could have united the Landsmeet against the darkspawn?"

Minutes of heavy silence passes between them, and Rowena folds her arms across her chest, another retort ready on the tip of her tongue for his next accusation, aggravation oozing off her shoulders like thick fog.

Finally he says "then you should have let me faced Loghain in the duel. I would not have lost. Because of you, Arl Eamon is dead."

A hissing intake of breath escapes her lips as she leaps at him, her vision spinning in red rage. How _dares_ he place all the blame on her?

With her thoughts caught up in a churning vortex of anger, Rowena barely registeres the annoyed grunt Alistair emits as her fist bangs against his chest with all the power of somebody accustomed to using speed, and not strength when fighting. She kickes his shin, familiar with Fergus' cries of outraged when she'd employed similar tactics when they fought as children. She has always been small and skinny and knows all the dirty tricks to fighting against a man much stronger and bigger than her. She smiles contently when she hears Alistair yelp in pain as the tip of her boot scuffs against his leg.

"This is" she gasps, bringing her fists against his chest again and again "not my fault", she gritts her teeth, hissing and sputtering some curses Oghren had taught her one wet evening deep in the roads of Orzammar.

His arm hooks around his waist, yanking her forward, closer and dislodging her from her attacks and suddenly Rowena finds herself bracketed against his chest. She can hear his rapid heartbeat thundering beneath his chest bone, and his embrace around her tightens as he presses her closer. Her rage thaws, strained against the unexpected embrace and the sudden proximity.

She shuts her eyes tightly._ Please don't... _but she isn´t quite sure what she doesn´t want him to do because suddenly she is aware that he is resting his chin on the top of her head and the thought of them wrapped together so perfectly, so intimately makes heat rush to her face. She can feel his warm breath run down her neck and it makes her shiver. For a moment her mind protests that he should not be able to elicit such a response in her, not a new one by far, that she thanks the Maker that her expression is hidden against his chest.

"I am sorry, I really did not mean to put it all on you," Alistair murmurs quietly against her hair. Rowena twists her fingers against his faded tunic, as if to draw him even closer.

"Through all this I've let you make….all the hard decisions and you've never failed us" there is a tender honesty in his voice, even optimism. For a moment she doesn´t know how to respond. But all she can do think to do, pressed so hopelessly close to him in the small cell is to wrap her own arms around his waist.

She feels him stiffen slightly at the sudden gesture and she makes to pull away, only to feel a content sigh as he exhales out in relief and hugs her to his chest.

Rowena is painfully aware that the thumping of her own heartbeat is growing embarrassingly loud. It is absurd to feel such sensuality, wrapped together in a small prison cell, await execution while the Blight spreads across Ferelden.

She cannot quite hear the words he says, only feel the murmur through his body from his stomach, making his body tremble as he softly speaks to the crown of her head. She´s never been wrapped up in an embrace like this and it makes her stomach tilts expectantly at implication. She cannot contain a small shudder.

Alistair must have felt it for he pulls away, his brows creasing in concern.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

Her head jerks up to stare at him for a brief moment before she finds refuge in hiding her blush against his chest again. "Nothing" she stammers, tightening her arms around him to still her trembling body.

But now she can feel Alistair shivers, a soft, quiet sigh escaping from the back of his throat. Rowena is confident that he will finally force apart the embrace, but then he relaxes against her again. She is suddenly afraid that her body will betray her arousal, and she makes to pull away, carefully sliding her hand down the length of side to break free from his embrace. Suddenly Alistair freezes in her arms and Rowena is painfully aware that it is her unintended caress that has caused it.

She turns her head to the side in an effort to gain enough distance to put her thoughts and raging emotions under enough control and to be able to string together a coherent sentence. She twists a little in his arms, brushing her chest unintentionally against his.

But Alistair is abruptly aware that the other person he has pressed against him is not only his fellow Grey Warden, she that is soft and warm in the cold cell, and very female in ways that only his guilt-ridden thoughts would admit.

As Rowena jerks her head to the side to break free, he suddenly dips his chin down to meet her lips in a clumsy kiss. Her hand falters against his back and her eyelids flutters open in evident surprised. His aim almost misses and for a brief moment it seems like he´ll bang his head against hers, when she had does the unexpected and manoeuvres her head just enough for them to properly meet.

And suddenly, the Blight doesn´t matter as much as all necessity to remove the barriers of clothing that separates their skins.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: See part one. Please read and review.

**Chapter 2. **

They finally part their skin moist and their hair clinging to their forehead and hands clutching awkwardly at their few pieces of clothing. Her heart is still racing in her chest and she heaves for breath, before managing to calm her raging of her of her wants to make some semblance of sense of what just occurred, while another part of tingles with joy. Rowena steals a glance at Alistair and her heart sinks to see the utter look of guilt and despair written clearly in his eyes. Suddenly it feels like not even Denerim is large enough for the two of them and she twists away from Alistair to search for her tunic.

And then slowly her adrenaline ebbs away and the magnitude of her failure makes her head swim and stomach lurch unpleasantly. The surprised look on Arl Eamon´s face, the way blood seeped from his wound and splattered on the wall as he gasped for breath. She´s no stranger to death, but to see the man who placed his trust in her brings for the memory of her mother and father- their dying faces swimming before her eyes and she turns to heave and wretch in the corner, coughing up water and bile.

"Rowena-" Alistair starts, reaching out a hand to her. He stops himself in the last moment, letting it fall to his side and curl into a fist. "Are you all right?"

"I´m fine", she lies and slumps hopelessly into a corner of the cell, pulling her knees up under her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs, curling up in an effort to hide her emotions to the man sitting across from her. The very same man she had let touch her everywhere, roam through her soul and heart like a thief in an empty castle. Her lips are still tingling from his hard kisses.

She shakes her head in a desperate attempt to remove the memories of the last few hours, the last few days and then the weeks and months since Highever.

After a terse moment, Alistair sits down at the opposite end of the cell, stealing rueful glances at Rowena. Her black hair is spilling over her head, obscuring her expression from him, but she cannot hide the way her thin shoulders trembles. He wonders briefly if she is crying- if he should do or say something.

This was nothing like he had expected _it_ to be and far from how he had wanted his -her?- first time to be, surreptitiously stolen from a distraught women in a prison cell while they await their execution.

_The Maker will strike you down, _ the voice of the Revered Mother loomed in the back of his mind. A lump in his throat starts to grow and finally he manages to press his words past it, offer some sort of apology for his unchivalric behaviour.

But she speaks first, her voice unusually hoarse and deep.

"Do you think the others will be all right?"

Alistair offered a meek laugh that felt discomfortably hollow in their small cell.

"Yes, I do."

"Do you think Ferelden will be all right?"

Alistair shifts his position a little, rubbing his hands against his knees in an effort to wipe away the feeling of her soft skin against his palms.

"I hope so" he says earnestly, giving her a smile he hopes holds more reassurance than he feels.

Rowena's blue eyes thins as she regards him in the gloom of the cell. "I thought maybe there was a reason why Grey Wardens were needed to end the Blight."

"I guess there isn't" Alistair replies "or I'm sure Duncan would have told me."

"Well, Loghain will end it then-I suppose" Rowena replies, drawing her skinny knees even further up under her chin, hiding her face in them.

Despite all her victories against undead, werewolves, darkspawn and dragons, she had lost the one time it truly mattered, the one time all eyes and the fate of the kingdom of Ferelden was on her shoulders. When she had wanted justice -revenge- for her family, for the Grey Wardens and all the men and women Loghain had abandoned on the field to be slaughtered by the darkspawn.

She had beheaded a High Dragon, but she had lost to the brute strength of Loghain in just mere minutes.

_And with my failure was shattered the illusion of the might and prowess of the Grey Wardens, whatever Duncan insisted he saw in me, it certainly was not there at the Landsmeet_.

They are faintly aware that time pass for the light in their cell grew and dimmed with the rise and fall of dawns. On the first night they a bowl of water and stale bread was pushed through the gap in their door, but there has been nothing since. She´s lost track of how long they´ve been imprisoned, but she thinks it must be days.

Alistair has hammered his fist against the heavy door until his skin cracked and he has shouted for food and water, for hours at end until his lounges burned and his ears rung.

And still, nobody comes.

On their third- or is it fourth?- dawn, Alistair is certain that Loghain had condemned them to starve death. He watches with waning strength as Rowena grows paler and gaunt beside him, staring listlessly at the wall or curling against the rock to sleep. If her dreams are like his, they are not offering any solace from the prison.

With some effort he pushes himself onto his knees and scooted across the floor to where Rowena sits, slumped in a corner. He puts a hand on her shoulder and she stirs, her eyelids flutters open and for a moment they dart about the room before settling on his. Her blue eyes are bereft of their usual spark, the same fiery passion that always made his stomach knot in ways that is not entirely unpleasant. Still, they make him smile.

"Hey" he says meekly, his tongue feeling like a lump of sand in his mouth.

"Alistair" she croaks "I'm so thirsty."

"I know" he replies, gently easing her up from the floor. He leans her against the wall as if she is unable to support her own weight. "I think they forgot about us" he offers, trying to will out of his arid throat even the tiniest hint of mirth. From above he can see the light in their cell dimming again as great clouds covered the sky and the air became cold with the promise of rain.

"It will be all right" he says then, the words not coming out as certain as he had wanted.

Rowena's reply was a tired murmured before she settles back down against the floor, dragging him with her. She leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder and he is momentarily struck by how comfortable he feels by this intimate gesture. He can feel the pitter-patter of his heartbeat increase as he wraps an arm around her shoulder and awkwardly strokes her hair.

Alistair is half-asleep when he hears the soft rumbling, his Templar senses immediately picking up the sound- the feeling of magic. A few moments later it is followed by the hollowed sound of boots against a stone floor in a large room. _Not darkspawn, _he thinks. He pulls himself to his feet and moves swiftly towards the door.

"HEY!" He hollers, banging his fist against the door with all the strength he can muster.

There is the rattling of metal and the door is pushed open. Right then Alistair would have been thrilled even to see the Archdemon looming on the other side. It is a close second, as Morrigan appears on the other side. A few seconds late Zevran appears, his breath ragged and his clothes tattered and scorched, yet his hair still immaculate. He slides his bloodied daggers into his scabbard and gives Alistair a grin. "My prince," he gives a foppish bow "we come to your rescue." His smile falters however as his gaze lands on Rowena, huddled on the floor.

Wynne appears in the doorway and immediately pushes her way into the cell.

"Well, they appear not to be as half-dead as you feared. "Morrigan muses, pursing her lips and trailing past Wynne to Rowena.

"Water", he gasps, moving away from the door to let Wynne enter and press her canteen gently against Rowena's lips.

"Why…" Alistair started, unsure of which question matters the most. Zevran simply brushes past him and joins Wynne on the floor as the two of them pulls the Grey Warden to her feet.

Rowena coughs and splutters, but she finds her footing, wrapping an arm around Zevran.

"We need to move quickly" Wynne says, her voice thick with unmasked worry.

"What's going on?"

"Loghain lost at Redcliff- his army broke and scattered. People are already fleeing the capital. They say the horde is moving towards Denerim."


	4. Chapter 4

Dislcaimer: see part one.

**Chapter 4.**

Leather boots brushes softly against scorched stone as Rowena shuffles down the corridor, an arm slumped around Zevran and Morrigan's shoulder as the witch scoffs and curses, dragging her along. Rowena stumbles after her as her limbs ached in protest of the harsh and rapid movements. Her head is throbbing and her ears ringing with pain.

"If you give me a moment" she grumbles, trying to muster enough strength to sound determined.

"We do not have a moment" Morrigan interruptes.

"What about-" Rowena stares "-the other prisoners, we can not just leave them here."

"Oghren and Leliana are freeing as many as they came. We do not have time to assist them. You are not well and have you forgotten about the darkspawn horde?"

"I fear she is right" Wynne sighes wearily, as if simply the prospect of agreeing with Morrigan is straining her more than the weight of supporting Alistair.

"How could Loghain lose? What happened?"

"Let us get you two out of here first and then sit down for a nice long chat," Zevran replies smoothly.

They make their way down darkened corridors, the prison is eerily silent. Plates and cups still sat on the tables, meals half-finished, and clothes strewn about. People had been in a hurry to leave.

"When did the guards leave?" Rowena asks.

"News about the army reached Denerim about three days ago. People have been scrambling to get away ever since." Wynne says.

They make their way out the main doors of the Fort without any difficulty, the guards having long ago abandoned their posts. The Fort itself looms empty and abandoned, shutters and doors left who can, had fled the city.

Oghren and Leliana waits for them outside the heavy main gates. Leliana is wringing her hands anxiously, fleeing to Rowena's side as soon as the Grey Warden steps outside. Leliana gives her friend a careful hug, before wrapping a cloak around Rowena´s shoulders and returning her daggers and armor. They walk quietly through the city.

Evidence of the flight is visible in the rest of the city as well. Carts overturned and the once valuable goods left behind. Even the shops and market stalls have been abandoned. She sees few dogs on leashes yelps and yowls and skinny cats prowl the streets. From a few dusky window she can see old faces pressed against the glass and women with children clutching at their skirts. Those too old or too burdened to flee have been left behind. They watches them pass with pale face and her heart swells with the thought of the fate that awaits them. As they make their way to the square, the mournful tones of the chantry bells cuts through the silence with its heavy tones. _Maker, help them. Help us all._

Rowena blinks away the tears that threatens to spill and cranes her neck to look at the skies- to look at anything but those people. The sky is a heavy grey, with bright lines of blood red and orange-green streaking through the clouds as day was gave away from night. _As if the Maker himself had decided to paint the sky an ominous warning of the Blight, _she thinks.

"We got to get sodding movin´" the Oghren snorts, a wary undertone evident in his voice as he too glances at the sky before pushing down his visor, obscuring his worry behind his helmet.

"We need to hurry" Leliana says, offering Rowena her water bottle. She accepts it greedily, drinking heavily and not caring that the water is warm and stale.

"Where are we going?" Leliana asks, stealing a glance at Alistair who has remained silent ever since they were rescued. Alistair´s eyes darkens as he watches her, and Rowena can suddenly imagine his steely fingers pressed into her shoulders once more. She shakes her head, driving the thoughts away.

_Where can we go? Denerim was Fereldren´s strongest fortress and now that is lost. No matter where we go, the Blight will follow. _

"Soldier's Peak" Rowena says.

"It's going to take us at least four days to get there" Leliana says.

"What about-" Alistair protests"-what about Denerim, we cannot abandon the city! We can´t abandon the people that are still here!"

"I fear we have little choice, we need time to reorganize and Denerim is too large for us to defend." Rowena replies, painfully aware of how cool and calculated she sounds.

"We can´t just leave!" Alistair yells, gesturing to a row of houses. "There are still people in there. If we leave they will die!"

"If we stay we´ll all- die!" She balls her hands into fists, why must Alistair make her seem like the callous one. How can he not understand that there is nothing they can do for these people?

"We cannot possibly hope to hold the capital even if we could gather enough forces before the main body of the horde arrives." Zevran says, and though Rowena is thankful he comes to her support, it does little to calm Alistair. He grits his teeth and hunches his shoulders.

"How can you say that-"

"I say it because it is true" Rowena bites back "Denerim is too large and there´s..." she makes a vague gesture "-we need soldiers to defend it. Soldiers that we do not have. We could hold a stronghold but not city."

"We would have those soldiers, if you´d not lost at the Landsmeet."

Every syllable of his words is laced with venom and Leliana has to grab hold of her arm before she flies at him. _How dare he, _ her mind rails. But Leliana´s grip is strong and the young bard leads her off. Alistair watches her, his face unreadable, but anger radiates off his stiff shoulders.

«What happened to Loghain´s army?» Rowena asks.

Wynne leanes heavily on her staff, looking thin and worn. Rowena wondered if it was the spirit that was draining her strength or if it was the thought of the impossible task before them all. She has to remind herself that Wynne is no stranger to the Blight. _Wynne was also at Ostagar. She knows what to expect._

_«_They say Loghain´s host was separated by the rest of his forces and lured into an ambush. When Loghain fell his host broke and his men fled.»

«What about the dwarves, the elves and the mages?» Rowena asked. She had spent the past year trying to get them all to help fight the Blight.

«Loghain did not summon them-» Wynne replied.

"Why not?" she asks.

To that, Wynne cannot say.

_So they at least, remain, _she thinks. _But for how long? When will the dwarves and mages seal their door to the Blight? How long will the elves linger before they flee the woods?_

"Let's get going then" she says. Without a word they follow her through the market and the main gates, leaving Denerim behind. _Not long. _

Night has long since swept its nocturnal veil over the sky by the time the haggard band stops to rest for the first rest under a great, naked tree. Rowena slides carelessly onto the cold hard ground, resting her back against a rock. The sound of the slithering darkspawn echoes through her tainted blood that pounds through her head. She knows it will be another restless night. With a weary sighs she seats about cleaning her armor, hoping the menial task with clear her mind.

She sense Alistair moving towards her, more quietly and smoothly than his large frame should allow. She looks up at him, forcing a smile that goes unanswered. She swallows her heart back into her chest, and turns her focus onto scrubbing a particularly stubborn stain of blood out of her armor. Belatedly she realizes that it´s probably Arl Eamon´s blood and the thought makes her breath catch in her throat. With an angry sigh she tosses the armor aside and folds her arms across her chest, refusing to meet Alistair´s gaze as he lingers in front of her. Quiet and sullen.

Alistair shifts his weight from one foot to another, making to sit down next to her. But he looses his footing on a sharp rock and he half stumbles, half falls down next to her. For a moment he struggles to regain his composure and ending up sitting much closer to her than he had wanted. His arm pressed up against her and the sudden proximity made him vary of what had last happened when a gesture had been misinterpret. He can feel Rowena stiffen, and he holds his breath waiting for her to move- but she remains still, staring off at the rest of the party making their camp.

She seems comfortable enough, so Alistair does not to correct his mistake. With a deep, steadying breath he settles down next to her. Her arm feels warm against his, even through the metal armor he is wearing. Suddenly she leans, just slightly, against him, seeking warmth. The simple gesture makes his heart pound against his chestbone.

"I wanted to tell you, I am sorry."

Rowena must have looked confused, because Alistair clears his throat and turns slightly to look down at her. She twists her gaze away to avoid the weight of those brown eyes on hers.

"Sorry…?" she asks, her voice catching slightly in her throat.

"I should not have…" he tries, suddenly struggling to piece together his well-rehearsed speech. He wets his lips and starts again "...taken advantage of you."

"You didn't-". For a moment she thinks he is going to apologize for his outburst in Denerim. She´s not even considered that he would feel regret what had transpired between them in the prison cell. She glances away, unable to carry the weight of his brown eyes brimming with remorse.

Her mother had always imposed on her the importance of remaining chaste and ´unspoiled´for her husband, but when Alistair had kissed her she had wanted nothing more than to surrender everything to him. It had been warm and awkward, but for a moment she had felt safe, for the first time since Highever. Had it been some foolish girlish notion that it had been something...important? She cannot help but feel heartbroken that he does not share her feelings.

Suddenly their proximity feels uncomfortable and she scoots slightly away from him

"I just mean" he says, willing her gaze back to him "we need to focus on the Archdemon."

Rowena clears her throat " of course."

"Good" Alistair says, offering her a meek smile "I mean, it shouldn´t have happened-"

They pause, caught in that awkward moment.

Rowena finally breaks the silence by pushing herself up from the ground and offering a hand to help him up.

"No", she says "Nothing to talk about. We need to continue to Soldier's Peak."

He lingers for a moment, and Rowena is suddenly painfully aware that she wanted him to say something _else._ But he simply gives her a small nod before making his way over to Oghren and Wynne.

Rowena watches him depart. They´d been traversing all over Ferelden for almost a year and now, after a heated moment in a damned prison cell, she was suddenly starting to _care._ _Stop being such a girl_.

Once, a life-time ago, after she had experienced her first _infatuation_, as her mother called it, her mother had sat her down for a talk. Rowena had been a gangly fourteen year old girl with knobbly knees and long limbs that never seemed to want to cooperate. She had fidget, trying to hide the blush under her hair.

«_Rowena, you are a Cousland and as such you have certain responsibilities in life»_, her mother had sounded old then, older then she should have been. _«Cousland women do not marry for love, but we come to love the man we marry. That is why we must armor our heart against disappointments. Because there will be many disappointments in life, and if you do not steel yourself against them, they will ruin your.»_

Rowena forces the voice of her mother out and reaches over to collect her armor again. Her gaze lingers for a moment on the Arl´s dried blood, before she scrapes it away.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: For disclaimer, please see chapter one.. Please read and review.

**Chapter 5.**

As they draw closer to Soldier´s Peak, refugees from Denerim, Redcliff the surrounding areas and soldiers from Loghain´s army trickled in, joining the ranks until the road was filled with people as far as she could see. The faces of the soldiers were ashen, their armors dented and mattered with red and brown. They dragged their feet with their head bent, the listless pace of defeated men.

There are also a lot of young women carrying little but a few bundles of keepsakes and the clothes on their back. _War, _she thinks with stinging despair, _has far more victims than the lives it claims on the field of battle._

There are hardly any children or old, and she remembers the pale faces left behind in Denerim. Rowena wonders how many men and women were forced to abdomen their children and their parents to save themselves.It conjures up the image of her own mother, holding the ground to allow her to escape from Howe's men. Duncan had to drag her away, crying and screaming for her parents. She forces the image away. The gray stream of refugees marches on, too exhausted to even mourn their losses.

By the time they see the broad gates of the keep, a weary drizzle has already soaked through their clothes. Levi Dryden stands guard, his face gaunt and grim as he ushers the people through and directs them to the small shelters erected in the courtyard. The place is already filling up, people settling down in any nook or cranny that offers some shelter from the rain.

Oghren heads straight for what she assumed is the kitchen and she sees Zevran slip in through the main doors. She doubts he would have trouble finding a warm bed. Wynne leads the way to the old stables, already busy ordering wounded men to rest and rolling up her sleeves. She knows she will spend the rest of the evening healing the injured and tending to the sick. _At least some things never change, _Rowena thinks with admiration for the old mage.

"Madam Warden" Dryden says as Rowena approaches. She offers him a tired smile and he gestures with a nod for her to follow. Without a word Alistair and Leliana follows in her wake as they cross the court-yard to a small stone hut that functions as the guards´s house.

"The Captain will want to speak to you" Dryden offers in ways of explanation, indicating to the hut. At this announcement the door is pushed open.

"This is the Grey Wardens?" a grey-haired and short man asks, staring up at her. His girth is almost as wide as his height. He extends a dirty hand, his fingers as thick as sausages, but his grip strong and determined.

"I am Captain Merkin" he says, pulling his hand away and wiping it on his stained leather jerkin, "formerly of Sergeant of Denerim's Guards."

"Can you tell me what happened to Loghain's host?" Rowena asked. She has tried to learn the fate of the army from the soldiers, but none would speak to her and all she had from the refugees were rumors that grew worse by the telling.

"Crushed upon the swords of the darkspawn, near to a man" he grumbles, "they marched to meet the host at Redcliff- from what I can tell, they were ambushed and lured into the main body. When Loghain fell, his army broke and fled the field."

Rowena combs a hand through her damp hair. _Only the Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn, _she thinks. Still, it is hard to believe such an ambush was even possible. Had Flemeth been right in thinking that Loghain thought he could outmaneuver the the darkspawns? What what was it Flemeth had said- t_hat the evil behind it is the true threat. _Rowena wonders which evil she had referred to. Loghain poisoning the country against the Grey Wardens and causing Civil War, or the Blight separating families and forcing mothers to abandon their children.

She has little time for such musings, however, as Leliana suddenly asks. "What about Queen Anora?"

Captain Merkin digs a hand in his pocket, pulling out a small leather satchel. "News of the Queen have been sketchy at best" he murmurs while his fingers skillfully plucks out a small bundle of pipeweed.

"We know she wasn´t anywhere near the royal army- Loghain´s army or even Denerim for that matter. She could have caught a ship and sailed away to Kirkwall or something. The Maker knows the Mac Tirs do not have many friends outside of Ferelden." he says with an uncaring shrug. He stuffs the weed into a worn pipe "as far as I am concerned she ain´t much of a Queen if she forsakes her people to the Blight- when they need her the most."

_I´m not sure I´d have acted any different, were I in her shoes, _Rowena quietly admits. _She´s lost her husband to her father´s schemes and now her father and all his allies._ _What can she hope to do against the Archdemon?_

"What do we do now?" Alistair asks.

Suddenly Rowena sense all eyes on her. She tenses under their stare and digs her hands into her pockets.

"I..." she starts, trying to gather her scattered thoughts "I don´t know."

"What do you mean, you don´t know?" Alistair sputters agnrily, grabbing her arm and spinning her around to face him.

"I mean", she sighs, yanking her arm free from Alistair´s grip. "I don´t know what to do. The army is lost, scattered, Loghain is dead, Denerim will soon be besieged by darkspawn, darkspawn that will then make their way north across Ferelden" she´s, aware that her voice sounds more dismissive then she has intended.

Alistair´s must have picked up on her tone, for his gaze darkes and he balls his hands into fists. But before he has the chance to say anything Leliana steps in, her voice calm and soothing. "It´s been a long day, we should get some rest, yes? Before we make -any- sort of decisions." When nobody responds, Leliana added a bit more forcefully "we have been walking for days, we need to collect ourselves. "

With a grunt Alistair turns away and stalks off towards the castle. She can see by his stiff back that he is suppressing his outrage and she is glad Leliana stopped another argument. After a hesitant pause Captain Merkin follows Alistair, the smoke from his pipe trailing after him.

"Nobody is expecting you to know the answer" Leliana says when they are alone.

"You could have fooled me" Rowena mumbles, unable to remove her gaze from Alistair´s retreating back.

"I did not ask to be made leader of this..." she gives a vague gesture encompassing the courtyard and all its people. "I did not even ask to be made a Grey Warden," she admits, without even wanting to.

She can sense Leliana´s hovering. "You never told me how you came to be a Grey Warden" she says a hint of uncertainty in her voice. Rowena sighs wearily, wondering how long Leliana has wanted to ask that question."It matters little now," she says turning away from Leliana´s intense stare.

Leliana says nothing in the way she says nothing when she wants Rowena to fill the uncomfortable silence with words she´d rather not say. _It must be a bardic talent,_ she thinks as the words slip from her lips.

"Duncan invoked the Right of Conscription. If I have had my choice, I would have remained with my mother and father. They thought that me becoming the Grey Warden wold mean I would be something...important. That I´d ´make my mark on the world.´" Rowena turns to watch the row of tents in the courtyard and the flickering lights from the keeps window. She has certainly made her mark on the world, she thinks bitterly.

"I did not really think we would survive the prison-" she has to catch her breath at the memory "-and part of me was glad because it meant I... well, that it was over and that...that I at least tried."

"But here you are. The Marker has a plan for you" Leliana speaks with a confidence that Rowena envies.

"I´m not sure I agree with the Marker and His plans" she grumbles, "they haven´t really worked in my favor."

Leliana puts a warm hand on her shoulder and says in a low voice that rings with certainty. "Everybody believes in you, Rowena. Oghren, Zevran, Wynne, and the Maker" she smiled a little "Even Morrigan believes, and Alistair believes in you more than you´d care to admit. They are all here, when they could have abandoned you to save themselves."

_That´s true. I can understand Zevran and Oghren remaining, but Morrigan? Why has not she left-saved her own skin? Is she still doing all this to save her mother?_

Rowena sees the dark-haired witch at the very edge of the courtyard, standing stiffly under an old tree, clutching her staff. She looks like she´d prefer to be anywhere but walled in with all these people. Her yellow eyes suddenly catches Rowena´s gaze. It is impossible to read her expression, but it seems like there is something...distant in her gaze.

She can not really understand why Flemeth had insisted on her daughter following them, nor could she understand why Morrigan had complied with her mother´s request-there was hardly any love lost between the two. Morrigan had even asked them to kill Flemeth before she could take possession of her body. It was all...rather strange to think about.

Morrigan gives her the smallest of nods before turning around and disappearing in the shadows.

As for Zevran, perhaps there is some sort of honor amongst the assassins that obligated him to remain at her side until the end. Or at least until her end. She had not thought he would remain after the Landsmeet, but he stayed. Silent and sullen, perhaps, and no longer prone to lewd jokes and shameless leering, but he had stayed.

Even Oghren has remained, Oghren who has somehow forced himself into the party and wormed his way into..._well, not into my heart,_ Rowena thinks with a small smile. She could not quite imagine that they would have made it all the way through the Deep Roads without him.

And Wynne who had fought the darkspawn tirelessly since Ostagar. Was she doing this because she thought this was her last purpose? Back at the Tower she had told Gregoir she saw "goodness," in her- that she thought Rowena would accomplish great things and that she would aid her in her quest.

As for Alistair -her stomach clenches a little when she thinks about him- He has trusted her to lead them ever since Lothering.

Back in Lothering he had said he was letting her decide because he did not know what to do. And she had done what had to be done because, well dammit, she was _Cousland, _and it was what you did.

Yet, even now when not does not know what to do, he is still looking for her to decide their path and even if he was disagreeing with her choices, he followed.

What had she really done to inspire such loyalty? Did they really stay because they believed in her, believed that she was destined by the Maker to save them all from the Blight? It seems an impossible idea.

"Let´s...let´s just get out of this blasted rain" Rowena mutters, unable to come up with a proper response to her own thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: For disclaimer see chapter one. Please read and review.

**Chapter 6**

Rowena can not remember falling asleep, but she wakes, bleary eyed and unrested. Her sweat-soaked hair is plastered to her forehead and and her wet clothes clings to her body. For a few seconds she she lays still, staring at the roof, letting her heart settle to a slow and steady pace. She wonders if she will have these darkspawn dreams for the rest of her life.

She wipes her hair away and blinks the last crusts of sleep away. Since the Joining she finds that she does not need a lot of rest. The only source of light is the pale moon seeping through the window, but her eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. Another "perk" of being a Grey Warden. The light casts long and twisted shadows on the wall, an eerie reminder of the visions in her dream. She shakes her head, willing the thoughts away. _Steel yourself, _she thinks, pushing herself up from the bed. She finds a woolen tunic on the floor and yanks it over her head. It does little to warm her.

On the floor she sees the red hair of Leliana. The young novice,_ bard_,she reminds herself, is curled up under a brown blanket and fast asleep. Next to her is Wynne, her face calm and serene in the darkness and her breath wheezing but steady. _She does not have much time, _Rowena thinks, the memory of an old conversation suddenly vivid in her memory, _then again, none of us do._

She grabbs her cloak from the peg and wraps it around her trembling frame. With a last glance at her friends she carefully steps over them and pries open the door.

The drizzle has given away to a soft mist that slithers through the courtyard and wraps its tendrils around trees and stone. She sees the shapes of sleeping people, huddled everywhere that offers a dry patch of soil. They sleep in thin blankets, pressed together like frightened animals. _Do people ever recover from this?_

A dim light in gloom draws her to barracks and she sees soft light pouring from the small window in the stone building. For a moment she thinks to knock on the door to make her presence known, but she stopps when she hears the sound of an unfamiliar voice.

Later she can not really recall what made her decide to eavesdrop on the conversation. Leliana might have said that it was the Marker guiding her, but to Rowena it seemed that the Maker has a cruel sense of irony if so.

She crouches by the open window, keeping her balance with her back against the wall. For a moment the voice had fades to murmurs and she is startled to hear Alistair´s voice cut through the whispers, unusually clear and confident. _He´s changed much in these last few days, _she muses, _no longer the man with the witty one-liners. _

"So you are saying only the Grey Warden´s can end the Blight?"

"It is so. If any but a Grey Warden were to kill the Archdemon its essence would find its way into a darkspawn host and be reborn." Rowena recognizes the thick Orlesian accent of the other speaker. Has the Wardens from Orlais finally arrived to help them?

"Why didn´t Duncan ever tell me!" Alistair exclaims outraged and Rowena can imagine how he has thrown his hands up in frustration and paces in the small room.

"It is has always been a senior Warden who takes the final strike-" the other voice reassures, calm and smooth "-before their Calling. Duncan might have thought you were too...young to be burdened with this knowledge. In his last correspondence he told me intended to make the final strike himself. He had began to hear the Call."

_The Calling, _she thinks bitterly, _when the taint has run its course and a Grey Warden enters the Deep Roads to find his end fighting the darkspawn - rather than submitting to the blood curse. _

"So what happens to the Grey Warden who slays the Archdemon?" Alistair´s voice carries with it the hint of uncertainty it did whenever he really did not want to know the answer to his own question. Rowena presses her back against the cold stone wall, holding her breath. She can feel a shiver run down her spine and her skin prickles in anticipation. Rowena knots her spindly fingers into the fabric of her tunic, a child´s habit, she knows, but one she can not seem to shake. She is certain she already knows the Warden´s fate and dreads to have it confirmed.

"The Archdemon´s taint is mixed with the Grey Warden´s and both are destroyed."

"So they...die" Alistair translates.

"It is the only way to end the Blight- in death, sacrifice" the Orlesian man murmurs.

Alistair mutters something she cannot not quite hear, but it sounds distinctly like one of Oghren´s well rehearsed curses. The Orlesian responds with a few grumbled words of his own, before he raises his voice again.

"So it must be one of us? One of us must slay the Archdemon?"

"Are you the only remaining Grey Warden from Ostagar?"

"No" comes Alistair´s curt reply "there is another. But I don´t want her to know about this."

Rowena cold feel her heartbeat and her breath caught in her throat. _He´s trying to protect you._

"Her?" the Orelsian voice asks "a female Grey Warden. That is most...unusual. Duncan did not mention this in his letter."

Rowena remembers the Broodmother they had fought in the Deep Roads and knows exactly why there were not many women in the Grey Wardens. The fate that awaited them if they succumbed to the taint was horrid beyond words. _Dying to kill the Archdemon does not seem like such a terrible prospect, considering the alternative. _But before her mind can lead her down that dark path of thoughts, Alistair interrupts her.

"What -did- Duncan say?" Alistair asks firmly, and she wonders if he was changing the subject on purpose.

"He said that he thought the victory at Ostagar uncertain, despite the King´s...eagerness to support the fight. When no further correspondence was forthcoming from Ferelden, the Orlesian Chapter sent me down to investigate" here the man pauses for a moment "but I was detained by Loghain´s men."

"How did you make your way to Soldier´s Peak?"

"Suddenly somebody unlocked all the cells and told us to make a run for it. I first hoped to get a message to Orlais. I did not trust the message with any courier, so I set out to deliver it myself, but all the trade-routes were closed and the harbor blocked. So I headed north on foot, and then I came upon the lines of refugees and I heard people talking about two Grey Wardens."

"I cannot tell you how glad I am that you are here, Riordan" Alistair gaves a breathless laugh. She can hear the two men move about the room, then she hears the sound of chairs scraping over the floor as the two men gathered over at a table. For a moment all is quiet and Rowena wonders if they have concluded their conversation. Then Riordan raises his voice.

"We cannot hope to defeat the horde" Riordan says in that matter-of-fact tone her father often had used to reason with his children. "Our best hope is to dig in, buy the refugees some time to get west – or north- and the Wardens from Orlais time to assemble. But we will need men for this, and we´ll need somebody to lead them-"

The last of Riordan´s words was cut off as Rowena suddenly feels a strong hand clamp over her shoulder. She´d been so engrossed in eavesdropping on the conversation that she had not even heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

Rowena twisted around in the man´s grip, ducked under his arm and brought her elbow upwards in a sharp angle toward´s the assailant´s face. She knows the goal is not to hit anything, men seldom expected skinny women like her to put up a fight and their surprise always worked to her advantage. What was it Morrigan had said about men´s assumption of women- _that they always thought the women liked them and that they always thought they were weak._

She must have hit her intended target, because the man swears viciously and takes a few steps away from her, clutching at his face. She leaps to her feet, immediately falling into her fighting stance: legs slightly apart and firmly balanced, head low. _Find your weapons. _She slids her hands to her sides to unsheet her daggers..._unless you have inconveniently left them behind in your room._

The man reaches for her again, this time his hand grasping her elbow and securing it in a vicious lock that sends rivets of pain searing up her arm to her shoulder. She grits her teeth to keep from crying out. _Use what you have._

With a loud, angry, curse she brings her steel-tipped boot firmly against the man´s shin. He yelps, immediately losing his grip on her and she stumbles back, ready to spring at him again.

Alistair and Riordan must have finally heard the commotion because suddenly the door is yanked open and light flooded out. She had expected them to leap to her defense, being fellow Grey Wardens and everything, but to her surprise Alistair wraps his strong arms around hers and pulls her away.

"What are you doing!" she gasps, feeling his arms locking hers securely in place "let me go!"

"I could ask you the same thing" he murmurs, his breath hot on against the side of her face. She shudders. "Let me go" she demands again, refusing to let a simple warm breath against her chin disarm her.

Riordan strides past her to help her assailant back up on his feet.

"I think she broke my nose-" the man huffed "-again. She always had a vicious elbow."

She recognizes his voice even before she can really understand his words and she forces herself free from Alistair´s arms to fling herself against him.

He laugh a little, breathless and weary, before he slides his arms tenderly around her shaking frame and cradles her to his chest. Rowena digs her face into his tunic, inhaling the smell of Mabari, mud, Highever and home. She feels his chest heave as he sighs contently, a soft kiss planted on the top of her hair.

"Fergus!" she cries, digging her hands into his to make certain he was _real_ and she pulls away to study his face.

His nose is not quite broken, but it is already turning an unpleasant shade of red. His face is gaunt and worn, his beard longer than their father´s had ever been and his eyes bereft of their usual cheerfulness. He looks thin and worn, but his grasps on her hands are firm and reassuring. But he is unmistakably her brother.

"My beloved sister," he says tenderly and hugs her to his chest again.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: See chapter one. Please read and review.

**Chapter 7**

"Most of my men were killed by an ambush of darkspawn in the Wilds. I do not know how long I spent with the Chasind who nursed me back to health." Fergus speaks in a low, even tone, his gaze locked on the content of his mug.

"When I finally reached Denerim I..."he swallows, closing his eyes for a moment "...Loghain was already marching on the horde. I tried to learn what had happened at Ostagar or to get news from home but..." he trails off and his grip around the mug tightens so hard that his knuckles shines white. She has had almost a year to deal with Howe´s treachery and the death of their family, for Fergus the pain is still raw and fresh.

Rowena places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, aware of how empty the gesture is of any real comfort. Her mind swims with the memory Oren and Oriana, brutally slain in their beds, her father slowly bleeding out on the floor and her mother, choosing to remain at his side. She is glad Fergus´s last memory of their family was a happier one.

"But Rowena, my dearest sister-" he turns suddenly to her, and she wonders if he has been reading her thoughts, if he was going to ask her about his wife and son. But he simply smiles, tired and sad and then grabs her hand again, squeezing it.

" To find you here, -alive-" his grip on her hand tightens. "I have a small part of my home returned to me." She can do nothing but return his smile and wrap her fingers around his. They are allowed this brief respite before the silence is broken.

"Fergus and I have travelled together" Riordan says evenly, "but he never said to me he was the Teryn of Highever", there is a hint of amusement in Riordan´s voice that is quickly quenched by Fergus´derisive snort.

"Titles do not matter now. My home and my family is lost to Arl Rendon Howe´s treachery and soon my country will be lost to the Blight."

"You are wrong" Riordan continues, undaunted by the bitterness in Fergus´voice. "Titles do matter, they may be more important than ever." At their blank expression Riordan adds, "we need leaders, we need somebody to unite the men, to unite Ferelden if we are to have any hope against holding back the darkspawn long enough for help to reach us." He draws a long breath, "people need a banner to rally to, they need somebody who can make them believe that there is still hope. People have lost their homes, their families-they need something, something- to fight for."

_Even if there isn´t any, _Rowena thinks, finally sliding her hands out of Fergus´ iron grasp. She flexes her fingers and stifled a grimace. His grip is has firm as ever.

"You don´t need a Teryn" Fergus says after a thoughtful pause. "Men won´t fight for a Teryn of Highever- to them I am a stranger, just some name," Fergus hesitates and Rowena can sense what will come next "but they will fight for their king."

Rowena glances to Alistair to read his expression. It takes a few seconds for the implication of Fergus´s words to register on his features. His brown eyes widened in shock, his brows raising to his hairline and he pushed the chair back with such force that it rattles to the floor. He rises, his voice quivering with unease as he speaks.

"Oh, no. Not this again. I cannot be king."

"You must!" Fergus says, planting his hands firmly against the table and rising to meet Alistair´s gaze.

Rowena has almost forgotten that the mere mention-the mere idea of a king can be so powerful. It has lit a spark in Fergus, who had just a moment ago had dismissed the very notion that he was Teryn of Highever. Would the notion have the same fierce effect on the huddled masses outside in the courtyard? Is that why Arl Eamon had pressed Alistair´s as the rightful heir to the throne?

Riordan places a hand on Alistair´s shoulder and gently eases him back into the chair. For a moment a terse silent hangs heavy in the room, then Fergus says with soft determination.

"Alistair, if you raise the Theirin banner-people will come, they will rally to you. Right now they have nothing, they have nobody, if you give them back their king-you´ll give them back their country, you will give them back their home."

"They did not believe in me in the Landsmeet" he mutters so darkly that she flinches at the sudden malice in his voice. She had not heard him speak with such venom since their argument in the Denerim.

"Why would they believe in me now?"

"Because there is nobody else," Fergus replies, unperturbed or ignorant of Alistair´s anger. "If you will not lead them, who will? Will they fight for the Grey Wardens of Orlais, you think? Or the Emperess of Orlais?"

Alistair wipes his hand across his face, slumping into the chair. He sits quietly for a moment his shoulders hunched and his head bent. Rowena longs to touch him, to place a hand on his shoulder, to wrap her fingers around his and to dispel the tension in his posture. She does not really understand where this sudden longing comes from, but the desire to touch him is so acute and that she curls her hands into her tunic to stop from reaching out to him.

Suddenly Alistair rises, more gently this time. "I need some air", he says with a sigh. None of them makes any moves to stop him as he retreats across the room and to the door. He slams it shut with more force than what is strictly necessary and the pictures on the walls rattled.

The silence looms in the room, and she shifts uncomfortably on the chair, part of her wanting to follow Alistair out, parts of her wanting slip away into the night and be done with this entire business. Things went downhill ever since they set about the path to crown Alistair king. It would have been better to let Anora- or even Loghain- rule and focus on the darkspawn without their support. Grey Wardens were not suppose to involve themselves in politics after all.

She wonders if Fergus or Riordan have heard about what happened at the Landsmeet. She had gone there with Arl Eamon to crown Alistair king and it had ended in disaster. She is not inclined to tell them, because the thought of disappointing her brother is one she wants to avoid at all cost.

"You should speak to him," Riordan says suddenly, turning to Rowena. She stares at him, shocked by the very suggestion. How could Riordan possible think that she can convince Alistair? Fergus also looks surprised, his gaze flickering searchingly between the two, his brow knotted in thought.

"I am not sure if that would do this cause any good" she mutters. Every time she and Alistair have stalked, it had ended with harsh and bitter words and one of them stomping away.

"He needs to hear this from you" Riordan says firmly, giving her a look she was not really able to interpret. Something between admiration and distrust. "Your opinion is the only one that matters."

Rowena finds Alistair on the high wall of the keep, resting his hands on the parapets and looking out over the horizon. Towards Denerim and the darkspawn horde. Is he thinking about the impossibility of their task? It has been gnawing on her mind ever since they fled Denerim, but nobody has spoken about it.

She studies his broad back, trails the tense lines through the fabric of his shirt from his back to his hands. She curls her hands into fists to push away the memory of his skin against her palms. She took a deep breath, bracing herself. _Steel yourself, armor your heart, _she chants as she closes the distance to stand beside him.

For a moment they stand in the same companionable silence they have shared on their many watches in their camp, watching dawn stretch its fingers into the darkness and color spread across the sky like watery paint.

"Are you going to tell me they are right?" Alistair says, his voice hoarse and weary. Rowena worries for a moment that he might cry. But he does not, just takes a long, shaking breath and settles his gaze on the horizon.

She turns to sit on the cold wall, bracing her hands against the stones. She is silent for a moment, trying to string together an answer that might break the tension-deflect it with a joke like he always did.

Finally, she settles for the truth.

"Would it really make any difference if I did?" she asks, careful to mask her voice.

He laughs, harsh and fake and she can see his muscles ripple as he clenches his hands into the surface of the stones.

"You wanted to be king at the Landsmeet" she reminds him quietly.

"I did not "want to be king"" he says callously, turning to glare at her "it just seemed a better option than that...that -traitor- Loghain and his vicious daughter. It seemed like it would unite Ferelden against the real threat- the darkspawn."

"Would you have done anything differently," Rowena asks "-if you were made king at the Landsmeet, would you not have rallied the troops and marched on the horde?"

Alistair does not answer, his expression hidden as he turns his face away from her. This is also precarious ground. They had never really talked about what would happen if they won the Landsmeet. She had always thought Alistair would declare himself king, summon his forces and allies and march on the horde. That is what Arl Eamon had intended- that is probably what he had died believing would happen.

_For all his jokes and jibes_, she thinks watching his hard expression, _Alistair would make a good king. He is kind and compassionate, he knows sacrifice and loss, and he is not interested in glory. He worries about being a good king. _

After another terse moment of silence, Alistair makes to leave, and Rowena summons her voice and says with unfaltering certainty.

"For what it´s worth, I think Riordan is right. People will answer if you raise your banners as king Alistair Theirin-" she is not quite certain what she intended to say, and she never found out. Suddenly steely fingers are digging into her shoulders, pressing her against the stone wall and her body knows before her mind has even had a chance to registered that he is kissing her.

The kiss is as unplanned and as unskilled as their first one, raw and desperate. He clings to her like a drowning man drinking air from her lips. Somehow her arms make their away around his waist and her lips finds his of their own accord. They melt together, clinging and clutching. Then he kisses her everywhere his lips can reach, her mouth, her chin, her cheeks, her forehead.

And then, just as suddenly as it has started, he pulls away, his lips swollen and red and his brown eyes shining with unbridled desire. It takes her breath away.

Her skin tingles, feeling like that time she had stepped on the lightning trap that had set every nerve on fire. She can think of nothing else to do than blink owlishly at his gaze and he places his hand against her chin. He opens his mouth to speak, but this time she is prepared.

"Don´t-" she mutters, pulling away from his caress "I know what you want to say, just...don´t."

But she isn´t prepared for it. Not at all.

"Marry me."

Rowena tries to respond, but her voice has suddenly left her. Her knees feel weak and she has to lean back against the stonewall to keep herself from falling over. Her head is swimming, she feels dizzy and hot and cold all at the same time.

"I´m not sure I-" she says, her voice quivering. But then he´s grabbing her hands and holding them gently and catching her gaze with his own. Nobody has ever looked at her like that, with such _reverence _and it makes her heart swell and ache at the same time.

"Rowena" Alistair starts, wetting his lips "-when we first met at Ostagar I could never imagine we´d end up...I mean, the whole quest with the Ancient Treaties and everything seemed impossible-but you made it happen. You gathered them all, the mages, the elves and the dwarves" a small, somewhat, nervous, laugh. "Maker knows how you managed it, I never would have- but you made it happen."

"Alistair," she tries again, making to pull away from him because the weight of his gaze suddenly too heavy and too tender. But he only tightens his hold on her hands.

" And I am so glad you are...you and not some other Grey Warden. If I am going to be king, if I am going to...make this last stand for the people of Ferelden, I need you with me, I need you to be my queen."

"This isn´t how it...works" she finally manages, shaking her head at the inadequacy at her own words. "Royal marriages and all" she explains at his questioning gaze "-you will need a wife, a queen, who can bring something to Ferelden. Wealth. Alliances. All this things that it really needs. I´m just-"

But Alistair does not allow her to finish her sentence "You´re a Cousland-" he argues "-if names have any meanings at all, so does yours. Your name predates even the gathering of Ferelden."

Her surprise at this knowledge must have been obvious, because he smirkes, that little, coy, boyish smirk that she knows drives Morrigan mad. "Wynne told me."

She cannot contain her smile, suddenly feeling ridiculously flattered that he has taken an interest in her family. But she quickly dismisses the thoughts and gathers her resolve.

"That´s not all-" Rowena says, finally managing to pry herself free from Alistair´s lingering gaze and his warm hands "-us getting married...it´s..." she fumbles in her tirade, searching for the appropriate word that emphasized her feelings "-insane. There´s a Blight on our doorsteps and I... I lost at the Landsmeet, people saw me loosing-people saw Arl Eamon dying to defend me. As far as many people are concerned... I would not be surprised if they blamed me for all this," she makes a vague gesture at the courtyard below them.

"The Landsmeet was not your fault," Alistair says quietly, reaching for her hand again. She makes no move to pull away. For the last few days she´s wanted nothing but for him to touch her, and this unexpected declaration has left her too weak to resist.

"We should have prepared for it, we should have gathered more support. It was I who insisted that we just...barge in there. I was so certain in our conviction, that people would see Loghain for the traitor he really was and...the Grey Wardens for the heroes the legends have made us be." His laugh is hard and bitter "I am just like my brother in that regard, I guess- believing that one can survive on glory and legend alone."

She´s shocked by this revelation and wonders if this is what Alistair has been mulling over these past few days when she thought he was stewing his anger for her failure. She looks up into his open and honest face, his eyes brimming with warmth and he cups her chin again.

"Rowena-" he says tenderly, "-you have made a habit of accomplishing the impossible. You put together this...well, let´s be honest, crazy band of people and made them all help you. You found us all in the Fade, you lead us through the Deep Roads, you´ve killed dragons, you even lead us to the Urn of Sacred Ashes, an item that by all accounts did not even exist-Rowena..." he pauses for a moment catching his breath and she finds that she too needs to gasp for air. "You are the strongest of us, the best of us. You are the one good thing in all this terrible horribleness. And I love you."

Her breath does catch in her throat at those words and she mutes a sob with her hand, her eyes welling up with tears that she rapidly tries to blink away. It´s to no avail, she feels them slither down her cheek, cold against her flushed skin. Alistair leans in, undaunted by her tears and kisses her softly and tenderly. This kiss is salty and sweet, so unlike all their other kisses.

"´Terrible horribleness´?" she askes with a anxious laugh, wiping her tears away. Alistair offers her a wry smile "Well, you know me- Mister Eloquent," his brief smile gives away to a serious frown.

"So will you? Say you will."

Rowena wipes away her remaining tears with the back of her hand.

"What if the people of Ferelden does not want me as Queen?"

"They´d be utter mad not to" Alistair says, the barest of trace of mirth in his voice "I´ll make it a demand of me being their King- that Lady Rowena Cousland is to be my Queen. Ferelden will need a Cousland on the throne."

There is something odd about the way he says it, and it sent a chill down her spine that makes her shiver.

"Are you cold?" he frowns.

She steps into his embrace, sliding her arms around his waist and buries her face against his chest. She feels his arms encircling her back, so naturally it seemed as though they have done nothing else for years.

"No", Rowena says quietly with a final shudder.

_I just know what you´re planning to do and I will not let you._


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: See chapter one. Please read and review.

A/N: it should be evident by this chapter that I know nothing of medieval-fantasy siege warfare.

**Chapter 8.**

«You need to wake me for events like this» Leliana says the next morning, as they are gathered in what used to be the Keep´s archives. «I go to sleep and I wake up and it is decided-» she makes a dramatic, sweeping gesture with her right arm «-my best friend is to be married and to be a Queen."

"It is not quite like that," Rowena sighs for the hundredth time. "We´re doing this for Ferelden."

Leliana gives a little laugh that reminds Rowena all too starkly of how her mother used to laugh. "You may play the innocent, but I have seen the way you look at him all...puppy eyes."

"There are no puppy eyes," Rowena mutters, a fierce blush creeping across her cheeks and all the way to the tip of her ears. Leliana simply laughs again and then she fishes out a comb from her bag and sets to tackle Rowena´s tangled mess of a hair.

"They say...", Leliana says in that causal sort of way that makes Rowena suspects she´s been secretly preparing her words for months, "...that the Queen Rowan also only married for Ferelden."

The implications behind her words makes Rowena shifts a little uncomfortably in her chair.

Her nan had told her a story of King Maric and Queen Rowan. "This version," her nan had told her gravely "is the version that the women speak of in hushed voices." She wonders if isn´t Ferelden´s most badly kept secret: that marriage between the hero and heroine was not one based on love, but out of a sense of duty to their families and to Ferelden. There had even been those who suggested, in the most quiet of voices, of course, that it had been Loghain Mac Tir that the Queen had really loved. Rowena wonderes if Queen Rowan ever knew of Alistair-or if Alistair was the only of the king´s bastards.

"I am sure that when my parents named for the Queen they never intended me to rule Ferelden."

"I am sure your parents wished only the best of you" Leliana says softly "and that they are proud of you."

Rowena does not know how to respond to her friend´s confident declaration, so remains silent. For a few moments she braces herself against Leliana yanking the comb through her knotted hair, muttering something about how Rowena´s been neglecting her hair and that it´s probably not seen a comb since the Deep Roads. Privately, Rowena thinks it is best not to mention that she´s not set her eyes on a comb since Redcliff. It seemed pointless to care about the state of her hair while traversing around Ferelden, constantly cowered in muck and darkspawn gore.

"This is the best I could find," Wynne declares as she suddenly sweeps through the door, brandishing a dress as were it the Sacred Ashes. "I was unable to find any veils, no matter were I looked-"

"I don´t need-" Rowena exhales- "-look there´s a darkspawn horde on its way, nobody is going to care about what I am wearing."

"You are going to be wed and crowned Queen" Wynne says, carefully laying the dress out on a the desk. "It matters what you wear. You are going to lead these people to war, my dear, you cannot look as though you have just lost one."

_Even if that is the truth, _Rowena grouses.

"Why are you looking so gloom?" Leliana asks, starling Rowena out of her line of thoughts. She forces a smile and is proud that her voice is free of any strains when she replies. "Oh, you know" she says with false mirth "all girls dream of having a horde of darkspawn on their doorsteps on the eve of their wedding."

Leliana stops combing her hair for a moment, before she says with iron clad certainty "the Maker will help us."

Wynne and Rowena shares a silent look of doubt, but neither voices their skepticism. Rowena surrenders herself to Leliana´s ministration of her hair and the old mage´s thoughtful gaze from across the room.

"This is going to be a ruthless calculation of numbers and sacrifices", Fergus says grimly. He does not know that Sophia Dryden said similar words to her second-in-command decades ago when they had gathered for a war-council in this very same office. "We will need experienced and armed men to guard those who cannot fight, men who will be willing to lay down their lives for these people."

"We should get people moving as soon as possible," Riordan says "west towards Orlais- or perhaps even north. Anywhere but here. If the darkspawn horde cuts off our path to the west there will be no escape."

"This fortress is well built, easy to defend-" Riordan continues. He clears his throat and unrolls a map over the grand desk "as proven by history."

They gather over the map, Alistair staring a little helplessly at the black and red lines detailing the keep and the surrounding areas. He does not understand what Fergus and Riordan sees in the squiggly dots and drawings and he´s thankful he does not need to voice his uncertainty.

"A few men could hold the keep for months if they are adequately supplied. The design of the walls, the keep´s location in the mountains means that it is optimized for ranged defense. A score of well-placed arches, or better- a mage or two- can wreck havoc from these posts." Riordan puts a dirty finger on a few spots along the wall and Fergus nods thoughtfully.

"But fighting darkspawn is not the same as fighting soldiers, "Alistair says."The Warden-Commander might have held the Keep for months, but she had skilled men at her command... facing men we have..." he trails off, the unspoken truth is that they do not know what they have.

He has seen a few well-clad soldiers amongst the line the of people that trickled in, but these could have been conscripted farmers and bakers. He had heard some men talking about how Loghain had forced every able bodied man to march with him for the final assault.

"We do not need to keep a siege for months-" Riordan reminds him "-last evening I had Captain Merkin send his best scouts to Orlais with pleas for aid."

"And they will come?" Fergus asks the merest hint of doubt in his voice.

"They will come. If the Blight is not stopped here, it will move to Orlais. And-" he pauses for a moment, his dark brows furrowing "it...is cheaper to fight the Blight on Ferelden soil. The Empress knows this."

A heavy silence settles at truth of Riordan´s words. Farms burned and mills decimated, keeps, trading halls, houses-entire villages laid in ruins, fields laid waste and cattle slaughtered. Forests burned and rivers and wells polluted. And hundreds of thousands of people slain. Ferelden´s soil could be poisoned and tainted for generations. Alistair had read somewhere that some places that were tainted by the Blight never fully recovered.

"Then, for how long do we need make our stand?" Alistair asks, his gaze locked on the map of the keep and his thoughts swimming with visions of darkened fields and tainted souls. He is not quite certain what he is looking for, some sort of sign from the Marker perhaps.

"For as long as possible," Riordan mumbles.

"Will the main body attack all at once?" Fergus asks then, looking up at the two Wardens. Riordan and Alistair´s exchange hesitant glances.

"It is difficult to say", Riordan says slowly. "If we are...Maker forgive me for saying .lucky- the darkspawn will spend some time going through Redcliff, Denerim and its surrounding areas-" he swallows heavily, clenching his fists "-the horde might even strike west for a time. Whatever it does, we will know when they come, but we must have our options ready for we will not have time for debate."

"There is also the question of supplies," Captain Merkin says, speaking for the first time since they all gathered. He sucks on his pipe, filling the small room with sour smoke. "We might have a few hundred people out there who can fight, but they are not going to last long against the darkspawn clad only in leather and armed with sticks and stones. We need arms and armor," he finishes gruffly.

"That is not...entirely the case" Levi Dryden clears his throat, drawing all eyes in the room. The young man looks uncomfortable with the sudden attention and his next few words comes out in a garbled stream that none of them can make sense of.

"Come again," Fergus says slowly, trying to digest the news.

"A few weeks ago an old woman appeared in the courtyard," Levi says, wiping his sweaty palms on his leather apron. "At first I thought she was another ghost," he laughs nervously "but she was quite real. I have no idea how she made her way up the steep road because she looked so frail I was worried she might keel over there and then. But...ah, I guess looks can be deceiving." Levi pauses again.

"She told me that it was imperative that I filled the stores with every piece of armor and weapon I could lay my hands on," he continues at their stunned silence "and she said it with such force-such scolding- that I could do nothing but heed her words. Truth be told, the woman was a right fright the way she spoke." Levi shakes his head as if trying to rid himself an unpleasant image. "Ever since then my family and I have been filling up the cellars and cells with every available piece of armor for miles. And not only that, bandages, lyrim, bows, arrows. We are very well stocked, if I may say so." He smiles proudly at the surprised expressions in the room.

_Flemeth, _ Alistair thinks, his mind reeling with the implications. Had she known all along that they would end up at Soldier´s Peak? He had not even known the place existed until they met Levi Dryden and that was months after they left Flemeth.

"There is one more thing," Levi says, rooting Alistair out off his thoughts. "Avernus."

Alistair cringes. He has completely forgotten about the blood-mage that Rowena let live.

"Avernus?"

"He is...ahem, a mage. A Warden" Levi adds quickly. "Madam Warden let him remain in his tower with his research- and we´ve had no trouble from him. Might be he knows a useful trick or two."

Riordan stares at Alistair and he feels himself shrivel under the gaze. "I thought you said there were only two of you."

"Well, yes" Alistair grits his teeth. "Technically, Avernus is a Warden. Technically he is also a blood mage and, I´m not certain on this, an undead."

He might has well have introduced Avernus as a close relation to the Archdemon. The uproar shatters the silence as all men express their fury in well chosen curse words. None of them seems angry at him, however, it is Rowena´s folly for letting this abomination live that their anger is directed. Fergus looks dismayed, his gaze darting about the room.

"Look," Alistair says with increasing agitation, balling his hands into fists to keep them from slamming into the table. "At the time we were faced with a Warden-Commander who had been possessed by a -demon- and a Keep overrun with undead. We were in no position to be picky about the help we chose. Or the deals we made."

He suddenly thinks about how Flemeth rescued them from the Tower of Ishal. _"If you do not want aid from us illegal mages, perhaps I should have left you on the tower." _He wonders briefly if Flemeth has been manipulating events since she gave them the treaties and set them on the path that led to the Landsmeet. That led them here, where she has apparently made further preparations for them. And what is worse, he has the niggling, unpleasant feeling that, somehow, Flemeth is still not done with them.

He draws a breath, steeling his voice, _"_and I fear our position is no better now, if Avernus can help us I see little other choice than for us to accept his aid. Blood mage or no."

"We need", Riordan says carefully, his gaze never leaving Alistair and he knows the subject of Avernus is not finished. "We need for people to be willing to fight. That is why you must raise your banner as King. As soon as possible-"

The door opens and all men look up to see a bedraggle young man stride in, a look of accomplishment evident in his confident smile. "I´ve found a smith" he says " A -master crafter-, by his own declaration, named Wade who said he´ll fasten a crown for the King of Ferelden, whoever that is, even if he has to make it out of twigs and weed."

"That´d be a sight," Fergus says with a hint of amusement, "Who else have you found?"

The young man searches a list of names "Bann-sorry, he insisted that it´s -Arl- Teagan, Bann Sighard, and Bann Aflstanna. There are soldiers and mercenaries-most unwilling to admit their profession. It seems that there were some who lied to avoid Loghain´s conscription."

_These were all the nobles that supported us at the Landsmeet, _Alistair thinks as the man continues down his list, mentioning the names of surviving Bann´s and noblemen, captains, sergeants and guardsmen that have come forth with their name and ranks. _I wonder if they will support us again._

"We´ll need their support at the coronation", Fergus muses as if reading Alistair´s thoughts. "The Cousland name will only buy you some support."

Fergus had looked as baffled as the rest of them when Alistair announced that he´ll be king if Rowena can be his queen. There had been no objections though, just long, hard stares.

"I called them all for a Council at noon, as you said Tehryn Cousland", the man finishes, folding up his piece of paper. After a moment´s hesitation he salutes.

"Thank you, Garen," Fergus says, dismissing the man with a slight nod. He turns to the rest of the room and takes a deep breath. "I do not really know what to expect..." Fergus says, thoughtfully stroking his beard. "There is none who has stronger claim to the throne than Alistair, and we need to unite behind a leader."

Secretly Alistair is not sure he shares Fergus´ confidence. True, the nobles had rallied to his aid at the Landsmeet, but they had lost against Loghain and his men and it had cost them Arl Eamon and their lands to the Blight. Now he was asking them to entrust him with the only thing they had left- their lives.


	9. Chapter 9

Dislcaimer: See chapter one.

A/N: Obvious references to a speech from a famous movie. I make no claim to that triumph either. I am as poor at writing speeches as I am at war-tactics.

**Chapter 9.**

Despite Fergus´s confidence to the contrary, there are a lot of protests.

At noon the nobles who had made their way to Soldier´s Keep are gathered in the main hall of the keep for the Council Fergus has managed to arrange. They look nothing like they did at the Landsmeet, then they were clad in their finery and confident of their position. Now they remain in dirty and ragged clothes that looks exactly like the roads they used to flee the darkspawn. Some things, however remain the same. They are all yelling and shaking their fists; at the roof, at each other, but especially at Fergus Cousland. Some are cursing the Wardens, quite a lot are now cursing Loghain, and some, he notices, are cursing the Maker.

Arl Teagan, however, is silent. He stands at the back of the room, flanked by four guards. His clothes are torn and tattered and his gaze unusually cold and calculating. He had given Fergus a stiff greeting, so uncharacteristic of Teagan that for a moment Fergus had wondered if this was the same man he met at the hunting party at Redcliff two years ago.

At this meet, there are not only nobles in the room. Rowena had insisted that the doors, and even the window, remain open for anyone who wished to partake in the Council. This meeting, she had said with grim determination, concerned all of Ferelden. Now there are rows of white-faced men and women standing at the side, staring wide-eyed at the nobles who will determine their fate. Even though they are all refugees, they aren´t equal.

Fergus turns to look at Alistair and his sister. The couple stands on the small dais at the far end of the room, looking like a pair of young pupils getting yelled at by their tutors. He sees that Rowena is knotting her fingers into her tunic, a habit their mother for years desperatly tried to get her to abandon. Riordan is standing behind them in the far corner of the room, his arms folded over his chest and his face grim. At the opposite end he can see the unusual group his sister has travelled with for the last year, the blond elf, a foul smelling dwarf, the red-haired archer, an old mage and a dark-haired woman that looks uncomfortable in the crowded room.

"Have you forgotten the Landsmeet!" An old man shrills and it takes Fergus a while to recognize Bann Sighard from the Dragon´s Peak Bannorn. His once golden beard is salted with grey and his eyes are as hard as flint.

"You lost to Loghain and now the man is dead and you wish to step up and claim the throne-" he draws a breath, and another man jumps in at the sudden pause.

"If the Grey Wardens had not betrayed King Cailan at Ostagar this Blight would have been long defeated. Now that we have lost everything you wish to be king? I think Loghain was right- this is some Grey Warden plot to get the throne of Ferelden!"

"You want us to hole up here and invite Orlais to Ferelden" a third voice cries with outrage. "And you claim to be Maric´s son. He´d- Maker bless his soul- roll in his grave if he knew..."

"This seems like some sort of Grey Warden plot to usurp the throne!" an outraged woman shrieks as an elder man gently clutches at her arm to stop her from fleeing across the room.

"The darkspawns are coming, is it not the Grey Warden´s duty to defend us against them- not play king and queen!," another voice agrees and there is a roar of approval.

"Look-" Alistair tries softly, not for the first time, but his voice is immediately drowned out by a new onslaught of accusations and protests. His shoulders slump and for a moment Fergus wonders if he is going to flee the room. The shouts, cries and howls continues in a deafening crescendo. Suddenly, Fergus sees his sister take a small step forward, finally letting her hands rest at the small of her back.

"I know you are all scared." Rowena´s voice rings through the room, immediately silencing the crowd with its stern authority. The transformation is enthralling to watch: the crowd turns as one to and she takes another small step down to close the distance between herself and the people.

"We are all tired, we have all lost...much, our homes, our families, and now we are asking you to give up the only thing you have left. Your trust. Your lives."

There is a quiet murmur of consent from somewhere in the crowd, but there are no cries of outrage or protests. Rowena continues to step forward, her head held high. She looks nothing like the sister he had left behind in Highever, nor anything like the dirty and skinny woman he had found hiding in a bush outside the barracks. Someone has freed her hair of dirt and tangles and it falls in soft ringlets down her back. She´s clad in Highever blue, her dress sweeping the floor as she walks down the room and the crowd parts for her. At her hip rests a long blade in a gilded scabbard, wrought with gold and precious stones.

"It is a lot to ask for, for you to trust us as King and Queen of Ferelden, to lead you in this darkest hour of Ferelden´s history," a slight pause. Some of us are going to die," Fergus hears the faintest of catches in his sister´s voice at these words, but they go unnoticed by the rest of the room.

"We are asking some of you to stay and fight while others flee. We are asking you to fight until the Wardens of Orlais comes to our rescue-because it has come to this. This is our final line." Rowena pauses again, giving the audience time to digest her words.

"You can run. Some of you may very well make it. You can go to Orlais or Kirkwall and live there as refugees. You may not live good lives, but you will live. And perhaps one day-many years from now- you will wake up and realize that you abandoned your country when it needed you the most. And I think that each one of us would give anything for the chance to come back to this moment and to do what our parents and grandparents did in times of trouble- unite behind the true king," she makes a sweeping gesture to Alistair who seems a loss for word, but manages to straighten his posture and look determined. "To fight for The Kingdom of Ferelden or to die a Ferelden."

"This is...this is a last stand. But we must a stand- " she wets her lips, faltering a little in her steady speech, but when she regains her composure, she speaks with such raw confidence that it chills him to the bone.

"We are asking that we make our stand against the darkspawn as a united Ferelden, as a stalwart kingdom- the kingdom I know we are, not this...a land in disarray, divided by civil war and strife. Because I want-" she slams a fist to her chest "-because I do not want history to remember us at the kingdom that fell apart when it was threatened. That we all fled to save ourselves, that we abandoned all that our parents fought and died for just because the hour was so dark that it seemed impossible that there would ever be a dawn again-",

The crowd stares at Rowena as she stops and turns to them, the room holding its breath as one. From the corner of his eye Fergus can see the red-haired archer, clasping her hands in reverence and blinking away tears from her eyelashes. The old mage is nodding along with Rowena´s words, a small, proud smile on her lips.

"I want history to say- I want the bards to sing-" her voice quivers with passion. " That the people of Ferelden made the darkspawn pay for ever inch they took. That when Ferelden was put to its knees by the Blight, it did not kneel! But fought to the very last!"

There is a sudden hush as Rowena finishes talking and for a while nobody dares to break the silence. Alistair crosses the distance to stand beside her, and catches her hand in his. They share a look of determination that speaks volumes.

"For Ferelden!" and old man says in a quavering voice, breaking the silence. All eyes turns to him as he folds his arms across his chest and bows stiffly at the couple.

"For King Alistair!"

"For Queen Cousland!"

"For Forelden!" Teagan echoes, folding his his arms across his chest, his soldiers following his lead.

And then the spell is broken as one by one the nobles and commoners echoes their sentiments, the angry murmurs giving way to cheers. Fergus falls in, a little dazed-suddenly aware why Alistair had insisted that his sister, join him as queen.

Rowena feels Alistair´s strong and certain grip on hers, anchoring her. She looks up and catches the look of grim determination in his eyes that melts a little as he smiles down at him. She returns the smile, her heart still pounding in her ears.

Then follows a a flurry of commotion as everything suddenly happens at once. Somebody, she thinks its Oghren, calls for a casket of beer to be open in celebration, though she is not sure what there really is to celebrate. People start to mill about, talking in excited voices and stealing glances at Rowena and Alistair. Teagan starts shouting orders for this and that, the words being completely drowned out a sudden rousing cheer in the room. Rowena recognizes the mood, it looks distinctly like hope.

Zevran saunters over with swaying hips, grinning for the first time in days. He pries her hand free from Alistair´s, and with a dramatic swoop he takes a knee and plants kiss on her hand.

"I would be more than happy to kneel for you, any day," he says with a smile that is not at all decent. Next to her she can hear Alistair sucking in a breath of outrage, but that only makes Zevran´s grin even wider.

Leliana saves her from having to come up with an a response, because she throws her arms around her friend and hugs her tightly. "You must be the rose in my dream", she murmurs and Rowena forces a smile, hugging her back.

"Well done," Wynne agrees with a smile "I think you´ve united Ferelden at last." She leans on her staff, looking thin and tired, but happy. Morrigan is no where to be seen, and Rowena wonders where the witch slips off to when she dissapers.

"Now there is only this pesky darkspawn horde to deal with" Zevran says cheerfully.

"I wanted to talk to you about that-"Rowena starts, but she is interrupted again, this time by Fergus who yanks her out of Leliana´s embrace to hug her against his chest.

"My dear sister" he says "mother and father would be so proud." His face softens and then he plants a kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you, dear brother," she replies, smiling back at him, feeling a faint blush creep up her neck.

"Now!" Fergus says pulling away slightly. As on cue a group of women appear behind him. They are clad in finery, despite the situation and hiding giggles behind gloved hands and painted faces.

"These lovely ladies-" the group breaks out into a fit of girlish titters while simultaneously blushing prettily, "will prepare you for...", Fergus continues as the tallest of the women- a dainty brunette with large, tawny eyes, wraps an arm around Rowena as though they´ve been childhood friends.

"Prepare me...?" she asks in wide-eyed wonder. Leliana clasps a hand to her mouth and joins the women in another fit of giggles. Zevran simply winks at her, then he gives another overly dramatic bow before he disappears into the crowd. She glances at Wynne hoping the old woman can translate what everybody else apparently seems to know, but the mage only continues to smile at Rowena.

"I have a lot of things to-" Rowena tries, as a plumb blonde slides up to her side, securing her arm around Rowena´s free one. "Indeed-" the blonde agrees, giving Alistair what is defiantly a flirtatious wink.

Rowena looks to Alistair, who is now blushing furiously while shuffling his feet and staring intently at his boots. Perhaps sensing his uneasiness, Fergus plants a hand firmly on Alistair´s shoulder. "Come now, we should... talk." He sweeps Alistair away, grinning from ear to ear.

There is no other option than to surrender to the noblewomen, who giggles and talks excitedly about lace, ribbons and petticoats. Rowena wonders if they have even noticed that there is a war raging outside this room. It seems that even the Blight must give way for a royal wedding.

_At least we can all think about something else for a few hours,_ Rowena muses.

The women lead her into a spacious bedroom and from somewhere they have managed to acquire a large iron tub and she is dumped into the bath with nary a word of warning at how hot the water is. She gasps and shudders, curling herself up against the edge of the tub, trying to claw her way out. But eventually the water feels soothing and not scalding and there is soap too and for the first time in a year she is allowed to properly scrub away the muck and grime that comes from living on the road and fighting darkspawn.

The brunette, Lady Margalotta, she reminds herself, creases her nose in disgust. Rowena is not sure if it is due to the state of her hair or how quickly the water is colored a murky, unpleasant brown. They change the water and then sets about scrubbing her raw.

"It´s all very romantic," the blonde woman sighs, staring dreamily at Rowena. Rowena wonders exactly what she finds so very romantic. The Blight at their doorsteps and the battle that awaits them or that she has just asked everybody not to flee but to remain and fight. _The way the women giggle and fuss over her, it is hard to remember that under the facade they are all terrified of the days to come, _she muses as the blonde tisks at the state of her nails

_All we need is more time, _she thinks as a bucket of water is poured over her. _Help will come._

Afterwards Rowena cannot really say how it all came about.

Somehow the great hall was tied, chair arranged, and colored banners hung in the ceiling in a strange array of colors and it takes her a moment to realize that these are the royal colors interwoven with Highever blue. There are no flowers, but somebody has arranged a row of shields on the wall at the far end of the room, each showing the different heraldry of the noble houses, the Theirin and the Cousland in the middle. Along the long walls stands the various knights and guards some of the Bannorn, but some she recognizes from the royal guards. There are even a few bearing the colors of the Mac Tir. Their armor is polished as much as the situation permits and they stand at attention, their helmets obscuring their expression.

The windows are open and outside she can see people tip-toeing, or even jump up and down, to catch a glance at what is going on inside. A few dirty children are hanging on the ledge to peer in. Some children are perched on the shoulders, and when they see her they wave their colored rags and cheers.

"The doors should be open so they can see properly," Rowena says "-they are the ones who will place their trust-their lives, in our hands."

"There will be the crowning first" Fergus explains as he leads Rowena down room. Rowena does not ever remember wearing as many skirts as she does now and it is impossible to move in them. To her it seems excessive, but there had been no arguing with the noblewomen.

"First Alistair will say his vows and be crowned king, then there will be the wedding ceremony and then you will be crowned queen."

"In Orlais this would be a grand affair lasting several hours," Leliana adds, falling in step next to Rowena. "The marriage ceremony between King Cailan and Queen Anora lasted almost seven hours."

Rowena stifles a groan.

"This will be much, much shorter," Leliana hastens to add.

"Already the nobles are arguing over which parts of the oath they can exclude and which parts must defiantly remain," Fergus says, easing her into the chair.

"I did not really think people would go to all this trouble," Rowena admits, straightening out a few creases in her dress. It does not really bear to think about which noble had fled the darkspawn horde with a weddingdress in tow. "I thought it would be just a few words in front of the priest and then we could go back to talking about the plans for the defense- I really have a lot to do."

"Proper decorum must be observed," Leliana declares straightening some stray locks of Rowena´s hair. "After all, you will be the warrior king and queen and Ferelden. It must be proper."

And it is very proper.

Alistair kneels in front of the priest, a young, nervous thing, that fumbles with the text and droops her eyes to the floor every time she mentions Alistair´s name. Alistair too has been polished, Rowena thinks. He is clad in a fine armor, engraved with the visage of a dragon. She has already heard people call him the _Dragon King. _The armor reminds her starkly of Cailain´s armor from Ostagar and she hopes the similarity of the two brothers ends there. Draped over his shoulder is a heavy, red, cloak that spills around him. Despite the thick fabric, she can see his shoulder tense and now and again he sneaks a glance at her, a look of uncertainty in his brown eyes. But as the crown is placed on his head, a thin circled of woven gold and gems, he stands proud and stalwart, his gaze sweeping the room as if he is daring anybody to protest.

And then the remaining nobility of Ferelden kneels and swears their fealty to King Alistair Theirin.

After what seems like hours later she is standing next to him and his palm is slick with sweat, but his grip as secure and firm as always. She smiles at him through her veil, her heart swelling in her chest as he returns her smile.

There is loud roar and cheerful hooting from the outside as she makes her oath to the Maker, to Alistair and Ferelden. The nobles on the front row seems to scoff a little at this rowdy behavior, but Rowena cannot contain her grin as she sweeps past them to be met with cries and cheers from the people outside.

_My people, _she thinks with an odd little sensation in the pit of her stomach.

There is no real celebration, despite Oghren having discovered severalcasket of old beer and wine from the cellar. But people gather in huddles around small fires or in whispered conversations about the keep, sharing their food and smiles at the royal couple as they make their ways about the crowds, shaking hands and gathering well wishes.

Riordan is watching the entire event with an expression that Rowena cannot quite interpret, but he smiles when they approaches and bows his head.

It is almost midnight by the time she is able to slip away.


	10. Chapter 10

Dislcaimer: See chapter one. Some direct quotes from the game.

**Chapter 10**

One week ago he had been imprisoned in Fort Drakon and awaiting execution. Now he had been crowned King of Ferelden and married. It was an odd sort of feeling to see his fellow Grey Warden -now his wife and Queen. Rowena moved through the crowd like it was water, smiling meekly and saying the appropriate things at the appropriate times. It was easy to forget sometimes, when they traversed about Ferelden with muck up onto their knees and the gore of darkspawn on the armor, that Rowena was born a Cousland. She was a noblewoman. Had not Arl Rendon Howe slaughtered her family- had not Duncan enlisted her into the Grey Warden this was probably the sort of life she would have led. A life of smiles and dresses.

Now she is smiling at something Zevran says and he feels an uneasy feeling trickle down his chest and settle in the pit of his stomach.

No matter how many times she has ensured him that the assassin could be trusted there was something about the smarmy bastard that irked him. Perhaps it was the way he smiled so easily at Rowena, or the way he seemed to find any excuse to touch her, her arm, her hand, or even her cheek. They were hugging now and to Alistair the embraced seemed overly long and he was certain Zevran´s hands were not suppose to slide up and down her back like that. Finally, they part, Zevran gives her another foppish bow, kisses her hand and then walks away. He can see Rowena watch his back for a long moment, before her shoulders slumped and she walks off in another direction.

For a moment he thinks to follow her, but then Fergus sweeps across the room to him to the side with an infectious grin, and presses a mug of something into his hand. Whatever had happened between Zevran and Rowena, Alistair thinks, as he grimaced into his mug, he supposes it is none of his business.

The day draws to an end, and one by one people slips off to find somewhere to sleep or to curl up on the floor in front of the fireplace. Fatigue settles into his bones and his limbs feels as heavy as lead as drags himself off to his chambers.

Alistair is not sure how long he has slept, before he felt the bed shift an move. He openes his eyes, his gaze darting about the room before it settles on the slim form sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Rowena?" he asks drowsily, stifling a yawn.

"I did not mean to wake you," she says in a strange and quiet voice.

He pushes himself up to study her more properly. She is clad in the same sky-blue dress she had worn at the ceremony, but her crown is gone, as is the heavy royal cloak he had draped about her shoulders. He can not quite see her expression, her face hidden somewhere in her dark locks.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, suddenly feeling fully awake. "Why are you here?"

She is quiet for a moment, the only sound he hears is her soft breathing and the slight rustling of fabric as she wrings her spindly fingers into the laces.

"Well" she says eventually with a soft, laugh "it is our wedding night."

Alistair suddenly feels hot and cold all at once, his heartbeat speeding up at the unsaid suggestion in her voice. He hasn´t even thought about -that-, despite the awkward lecture both Wynne and Fergus had given him before the ceremony. It was not like as if they were stranger to... -it-, but somehow it feels wrong to confess their familiarity. He is still ashamed at the way it had all played out. He feels his cheeks redden, and he isn´t sure if it is because of memory of the conversation or that the topic of it is sitting in his bed now.

"Oh," was all he can think to say, swallowing heavily.

"Well, if you do not-" Rowena starts, the barest hint of playfulness in her voice.

"Oh, I do, I mean-" he fumbles, painfully aware that he is sounding just as aroused and as eager as he feels

"You´ll need to help me with this then," Rowena says, twisting her back to him. Alistair hestiates for a moment, not really understanding what she is asking of him until he sees the never-ending line of small buttons running all the way from back of her neck to her...

"Maker´s breath" he mutters "how did they intend for you to get out of this thing?"

"Well" she says again, and now it is her turn to blush, "I suppose they assumed I would not be undressing myself."

His fingers shake as he tries to pry lose the small silk buttons. He can hear her breath quicken as he runs his fingers along her exposed skin. He feels foolishly thrilled that he is able to elicit such a response from her just by touching her back and now again he allows his eager fingers to linger longer than necessary.

Finally he pries free the last button and Rowena turns to look at him, her eyes wide and dark and her lips slightly parted. He cannot draw his eyes away from hers, yet part of his mind eagerly registers that the dress is already sliding down, exposing her thin and bare shoulders. However, it is the only thing he registers before every cell in his body is occupied with telling him that she is kissing him and that her mouth is warm, wet and soft. He runs his bare hands along her arms, sliding them across her shoulders and upwards to softly cup her chin. She sighs against him, and he leans back into the soft folds of the beds, pulling her with him.

Afterwards she lays next to him, her head propped on his chest and her fingers curled around his. Alistair cannot ever remember feeling more content, never more happy, than he is now. He lets his fingers comb through her hair and the sensation of her breath against his skin makes him feel tingly from head to toe. He would give anything for the moment not to end.

After a few moments of blissful quiet, she asks softly "they are close, are they not?"

Alistair closes his eyes at her words. The darkspawn. The Archdemon. He had feelt them, lingering at the outskirts of his thoughts and senses. That dark and twisted feeling that gnaws at him, growing hungrier and hungrier as they approach.

"Yes," he says. "Riordan thinks they will be upon us in a few days. He does not think it is the main horde, though, because he cannot...hear the Archdemon. It might be a small party sent out to gauge our position. Test our defenses."

"I did not know darkspawn thought so...strategically," Rowena murmurs against his chest.

"I suppose there is a lot about them we do not know," he replies, hating the conversation. He isn´t ready to think about the darkspawn on the Archdemon and what awaits him.

He can feel a shudder run through her body and he wraps his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her closer. For a moment they lapse back into content silence, and for a moment Alistair hopes the topic has been dropped.

"Alistair..." she starts, and there is this odd catch to her voice. He hates how it sounds, weak and sad- it is the same voice she had spoken with in the prison cell and it breaks his heart to hear it now. It´s hard to reconcile the two women, the strong and passionate one who stood before them and made them all believe in him- and the frail woman that curls against him for warmth.

"Let´s not..." he says with determination "let´s not have any ´goodbye speeches.´ Not now, please-" he cannot finishes the sentence, because his own voice is failing him. _All I want is a few more hours of this._

He thinks he feels her nod against his chest.

"Can we...can you at least make a promise," Rowena starts, quickly silencing his protests. "Not...a goodbye sort of promise," she adds.

"Alistair, you must not let this change you." At his continued silence she pushes herself up. He is already missing the warmth of her body against him, but she looks at him with her eyes brimming with an emotion he cannot quite read. Tenderness, despair, a mix between the two? She continues, her voice a little steadier now. "The man I know, the man I have travelled with for almost a year, he could always crack a smile, a joke, even in the thickets part of the Deep Roads. Please hold on to that in the time ahead."

"I´m not sure I understand-" Alistair says, but he never gets an explanation because she leans in and kisses him, hard and urgently and that sends all his questions scattering. Her hands finds his under the sheets and she squeezes his fingers hard, his breath catching in his throat. He is not quite certain if he is imaging the words she murmurs against his lips as she drags him down into the bed again.

The next time he awakes, the first rays of dawn is already creeping across the floor. The window is open admitting a cold chill that trickles down his spine. He shudders and grumbles, reaching for the warm person that was next to him, only to find the space empty. He rises slowly, an sore tenderness thudding behind his eyelids.

Rowena is gone along with her dress and shoes. As he slips on his clothes and stuffs his feet into his shoes he wonders if it is later than he thinks.

He pries the door open only to be faced with Leliana, a piece of a paper in one hand and a look of surprise on her face. "Good morning your, Majesty," she says with a small smile, tip-toeing to try and catch a glimpse of the room. After a moment of awkward silence, she asks "The Queen, she is...ah, not with you?"

"No she already rose," Alistair replies, stretching his arms and rubbing the back of her neck. The fleeting expression of despair on Leliana´s face does not go unnoticed and his stomach lurches.

"What is wrong, Leliana?" He demands, a sense of dreading spreading through his body.

"Ah, wrong-" she tries, her smile faltering. "We are just wondering where the Queen is."

"What do you mean- is Rowena gone?"

"We all assumed she was with...ah, you," Leliana starts, but Alistair quickly pushes past her to stalk down the corridor. He yanks the door to her room open. Her bed is made, and on it lies the blue dress with all its buttons. He walks in, feeling his heart thundering against his chestbone and even before he opens the doors to the old wardrobe, he knows what is he is going to traveling armor is gone, so is her enchanted cloak and boots. Starfang and Thorn, her sword and daggers are also missing. A few odd nicknacks rests on the shelves, a few potions, an odd end of books and a collection of smaller blades and arrows.

On her bed rests another blade, only recognizable as the Cousland family blade by its gilded scabbard. Whatever has occurred, it is clear that Rowena has left on her own accord, and that she was traveling light.

"What- where is she?" He says angrily, turning to Leliana. The bard clasps a hand over her mouth, shirking away from Alistair and he is suddenly aware that he is looming. He balls his hands into fists, feeling sick with rage and disappointment.

"A few of the guards saw her leave this morning," Riordan suddenly interrupts. Alistair spins around, glaring at the Orlesian Warden. "Along with that blonde elf. I´ve managed to convince them that they left on Warden business, but the truth is I do not know where they went. I could not risk any men following them."

Alistair sinks slowly to the bed, burying his face in his hands.

He does not quite know what to think. That she should abandon them all after the speech she gave to the Council about them standing united seemed impossible. But she had sounded so odd last night when she came to him, distant and sad. Was that her way of saying goodbye?

The silence in the room is heave and tense and it is only broken by Riordan´s cool, calculating voice. "People cannot know that she has left. If they do-everything we accomplished yesterday will be for naught."

Alistair does not respond, his breath growing thick and heavy in his throat. It takes all his will to stop himself from screaming, from taking the blade and throwing it against the wall and rip the dress apart, to not let himself surrender to the rage and despair that is howling in his mind.

"We will tell people she is resting, or preparing for the fight. When necessary, Leliana can play the part." With that, Riordan turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor. After a second he can hear Leliana´s shuffling departure and he´s left alone in her empty room. He grabs the dress and brings it to his face, inhaling the scent that is uniquely her. Then he pushes it away and storms off.

Fergus, however, does not contain his rage and despair. As Alistair breaks the news to him in the same, cool manner that Riordan had, he throws a goblet against the wall so hard the metal is dented. He continues to seethe for a few moments, pacing and growling.

"I refuse to believe this," he cries with anger, slamming his fist against the table. "My sister would never shirk from her duty- even if the duty was forced on her. She is a Cousland."

"What do you mean-forced on her," Alistair says, gritting his teeth."I did not force her to-,"

"I did not mean that" Fergus says quickly in a low tight voice, "I meant the Grey Warden duty."

"It was not-" Alistair starts, but suddenly Fergus is grabbing the lapels of his tunic and pulling himself up to level with Alistair.

"She told me," Fergus hisses "-how this Duncan invoked the Right of Conscription on her when she refused to abandon our parents to their death at Howe´s men! ´The Blight demands sacrifice´ Duncan had told her- As if our family has not sacrificed enough for the Grey Wardens!"

He stares at Fergus stunned by this revelation. Rowena has never told him how she came to be in the Grey Warden and he had never though to ask. He wonders, for a brief moment, why he never asked- had her past simply not mattered to him? She had always seemed dedicated and committed to the Grey Warden and their task-was this only because she had to uphold her family´s responsibility?

"Rowena has left with that elf- Zevran" Alistair says finally, every word laced with poison. "And there is nothing that justifies abandon her duty to the Grey Wardens-to Ferelden"

"I refuse to believe you!"

"Fine! I hope you can force that conviction on a keep full of people- a keep full of people that yesterday entrusted Rowena with their lives and made her Queen."

Fergus finally releases Alistair, sinking slowly into a chair. Alistair stares at him for a moment and suddenly realizes Fergus´shoulders are shaking and that the young man is crying.

"For what it is worth," Alistair says, his voice strained "she has left you the Cousland family blade. It is in her room." He turns his back to Fergus and quietly leaves the room.

The rest of the day crawls by in a harrowing haze. There are preparations to complete and as darkness falls, first stream of refugees are sent out with a small escort of watches them leave from his window, their back braced against the cold wind and their head bent.

With a weary sigh he turns only to see Morrigan silhouetted against his fireplace, the light from the flames dancing across her skin. He has not even heard her enter the room, and for a second his mind reels at him for letting his guard down.

"Don´t be alarmed" she says coyly as if she´s reading his mind."T´is only I"

"Morrigan", Alistair says warily, whatever she is her for, he is in no mood to bicker with her.

"I have though that you had left," he grumbles. "Why are you still here?"

"Because my mother asked me to," she says as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Your mother?" Alistair sputters, "you had us kill her-why do you still care about any promises made to her?"

"I have a loop in your hole,"Her voice is as calm and smooth as black silk, her hands folded confidently across her chest, her head cocked coyly to the right and her sultry eyes watching him with unmasked amusement.

«I am in no mood for your games» Alistair growls, stalking past her towards her door. He holds it open, but she remains.

«I have a plan. A way out,» she continues undaunted. «I know what happens when the Grey Wardens slays the Archdemon.»

Alistair sowly closes the door, too stunned to even be feign ignorance.

«What do you mean, you know-»

«I know that a Grey Warden must be sacrificed to kill the Archdemon. And that sacrifice may be you or your friend Riordan. I have come to tell you that this need not be the case.»

Alistiar slowly closes the door. For a moment, he hesitates, then he turnes to Morrigan.

«What...is your propose?»


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

A/N: There will be further chapters that explains the time gap.

**Chapter 11.**

Something whistles past his ear, there's a soft thud and the sickening gurgles of darkspawn drowning in its blood as it falls to its knees, clutching at its collar, an arrows stuck in his throat. Another one appears immediately in its wake.

Fergus leaps forward and his sword locks with the darkspawn´s axe and he's shouldering it backwards, the sound of metal grinding against metal echoing across the battlefield. The darkspawn presses back, growling and hissing in anger. Fergus has never imagined that they would be so grotesque, dark fluid seeping from its eyes and nostrils, a mass of muscle and evil.

Finally, his blade slides across armored hide finding a soft spot and digs in. Fergus curses loudly and yanks the sword upwards in a vicious arch before yanking the blade out. The darkspawn falls to ground with a grunt, black blood pooling around it.

He wipes his hand across his forehead and allows himself a moment to survey the field of battle. In the distance he can see the dwarf, Oghren swinging his axe in a brutal whirlwind that slices through the darkspawn and sends blood and gore splattering. Leliana is standing a few paces behind him, he knows, disguised as his sister- the warrior queen. Leliana is tirelessly firing arrows into the never-ending horde of darkspawn. He casts his gaze about the courtyard finding Alistair and Riordan locked, back to back, fending off a trio of hurlocks.

This is it, he thinks. They´ve been fighting for what feels like days; they are near exhausted, but the darkspawn are relentless. They fight with more malice than skill, brutally cutting down everything in their path, uncaring of their target. They fell one and two appears to take its place. The place reverberates with the sound of steel against steel, of the inhumane cries of the dying men and the relentless evil of the darkspawn.

They will not hold out much longer.

There is a cry of anguish and Fergus twists around to see Riordan keel over, a dark blade in his chest. Alistair gives a vicious roar, slamming his shield into the darkspawn and swinging his sword in a deadly arch upon the darkspawn´s head, almost cleaving it in two.

Fergus leaps forward, skidding on stone and pebbles as he rushes to the king´s side. Alistair is kneeling next to Riordan, cradling the Warden against his chest, a hand on the man´s head and another on the bleeding wound in his chest. Blood oozes over his fingers and Riordan tries to speak, but blood is filling his throat and trickling out in a steady stream from his lips. Alistair bends over him, clutching at the man as if he can hold him back from death´s door. The Warden emits a wet cough, and then he dies. For a moment Fergus cannot do anything but stare at the dead man. Then he closes his eyes and summons his scattered thoughts.

"Your majesty-"Fergus cries breathlessly, trying to peel the two apart. "We cannot remain here!" Alistair glances up at him, his face mattered with blood and dirt and his eyes filled with despair.

"We´ve lost," he sobs, clinging to Riordan´s remains.

"Your-" he pauses, finding his voice "Alistair. We need to move." Fergus says firmly, pulling the young man up by his arm. He wraps an arm around his shoulders, trying to support the king.

"He said they would come," Alistair wheezes with despair.

"There´s still time," Fergus says, trying to mask the lie.

"We should all have fled," Alistair moans "some of us might have survived. Why did we stay and fight?"

"Because-" Fergus tries, "-because this is our home."

"Wynne!"

Leliana´s cry cuts through his line of thoughts and he scans the field, searching for the mage. It takes a second to locate her amongst the piles of the dead and derbies from the fallen tower. The old mage is pinned down and even from a distance he can see that her leg is crushed. A darkspawn advances, chortling with glee as it raises its axe high above its head.

"No!" Alistair yells, flinging himself from Fergus´s side to rush to Wynne´s aid. _ He´s too far away,_ Fergus thinks, _he will not make it in time._

Wynne raises an arm, as if to shield herself from the vicious weapon. For a moment it seems as though the Maker halts the flow of time, because the darkspawn remains standing.

And then everything suddenly happens at once.

Alistair rushes to Wynne´s aid and as the darkspawn brings its axe down it stops mid-swing. For a moment Fergus can see that it looks almost surprised, and then he sees the arrow sticking out from the creature´s chest. The darkspawn glances about as if searching for the archers and four more arrows wistles through the air to thud themselves into the creature.

Then Oghren is pointing to something and laughing. For a moment Fergus wonders if the dwarf has suddenly lost his mind.

Then there´s a cry in a strange and melodic voice followed by a hail of arrows in a stream so thick it darkens the sky for a moment. Each arrow finds a target, cutting down the rushing horde of darkspawn. Those lucky enough to escape the rain, halts, suddenly unsure how to proceed. It is long enough for the second surge of arrow to fill the sky and thunders into the darkspawn.

And then they appear, tall and proud clad in gold and green, an elegant banner ripples and snaps in the wind. Another foreign cry, a command, and then the Dalish archers readies their bows again, drawing arrows from their quivers and letting loose another deadly hail.

Alistair does not think he has ever been so glad to see the smarmy bastard as Zevran steps forwards and with a few light-footed steps he´s at Wynne´s side- he helps her up and presses a potion of lyrium into her hands. With a few words of incantation Wynne heals her leg and she stands, weary and smiling next to Zevran. Leliana rushes to them and flings herself into Zevran´s arms, and the assassin is all to happy to accept the embrace.

"The Dalish has come to answer the Warden´s call," Zevran says smartly, and Alistair thinks, a little smugly.

"What do you mean-?"

With swift and fluid movements Zevran sends a dagger flying past Alistair´s head and into the eyes of an oncoming darkspawn.

"This is not the best place for a conversation." The elf scoffs a little. Then in the distance they hear the low, mournful sound of a warhorn.

"The dwarves!" Oghren chortles gleefully waddling over to Alistair and Zevran.

"What dwarves?" Alistair asks.

"That´s the sound of a dwarven war-horn! About sodding time!"

Then Alistair sees them appear on the ridge, their armor almost gleaming in the sunlight. There must be hundreds, if not thousands. They stand for just a moment before another call sends them down the hillside in a furious wave of axes and shields. They crush upon the darkspawn horde cutting down their ranks. Oghren roars with laughter before he rushes over to join their ranks.

Alistair stands, a little dazed, watching the scene unfold in front of his eyes.

A moment ago Riordan had died in his arms and with him had died his last fragment of hope. He was the last Warden in Ferelden and around him his friends and allies were dying. Their plan of simply holding on until the Orlesian Wardens could come to their aid had been a foolish notion that cost them everything.

But now, the Dalish archers were pressing the darkspawn back and the dwarves were laying waste to those who escaped the onslaught of arrows.

And there, upon the bloodied field, amongst the dwarves stands a taller, slimmer, figure. He recognizes the eerie blue blade, so distinctive against the dark steel and with fluid motions the dual blades slice through the darkspawn, cutting through armor and hide.

He rushes to her, sliding on rocks and pebbles, falling once, then twice, but uncaring of how clumsy his approach is as he stumbles across the field. She sees him coming and stops for a moment, looking at him with a small smile. Her hair stands like a dark halo around her blood smeared face and there is a nasty blue bruise swelling on her cheeks. But she´s defiantly real, and defiantly here.

"Alistair."

He grabs her arms, uncaring of the battle that rages around them.

"Rowena," his swallows the lump in his throat. "How-" he starts, but their tentative reunion is a short one, because there is a bellow, a vicious roar that makes the ground tremble and shake and the sun disappears as the dark shape crosses the sky.

"The Archdemon!" Rowena cries and he pulls her to the ground as the beast swoops over them. Its vicious claws locks about a figure. They hear the man sob as the talon´s digs into his body, puncturing his veredian steel armor and crushing the man. The dragon lets the man drop amongst the soldiers, who vail and scream with fright.

"We got to bring it down!" Rowena yells, pulling herself up. "Archers, mages-"

She does not need to tell them what to do. The Dalish turn their arrows to the sky and streams of magical energy crackles skywards. They find their target, slicing through the demon´s wings. The Archdemon hollers and shrieks and then stumbles to the ground.

This is it, she thinks, and readies her blade.

"Rowena!" Alistair cries, grabbing her arm again and forcing her to halt. "Listen-"

"I know!" She yells over the fury and at Alistair´s puzzled brows she adds. "I heard what Riordan said. Only a Grey Warden can end the Blight. A Grey Warden needs to kill the Archdemon or it will be reborn. That the Grey Wardens who delivers the killing blow will be destroyed along with the Archdemon. In death- sacrifice."

"No, you don´t-"

"Alistair," she says, lowering her blades for a moment to look at him. His expression a mixture of dread and anguish, his hand on her arm trembling. She hesitates, but then places a hand on his face, wiping blood and grime away from his chin with her thumb.

"Alistiar," she repeats softly "Ferelden needs you."

His grip on her arm tightens and his voice trembles. "Rowena, I need you. There´s something you need to know-"

She steals a glance over her shoulder. The Archdemon trembles with the efforts to raise itself up. It roars and green flame licks over the ground. It will not remain downed for long.

"I love you, Alistair. So don´t do anything foolish." She leans against him and kisses him, softly and sweetly on his lips.

Then she summons her energy and pulls away from him and sprints across the field. She throws away her dagger as she runs, wrapping both her hands firmly around the hilt of Starfang. The beasts lifts its head as she approaches. It opens its massive jaw and she ducks, sliding under its chin and avoiding the vicious fire licking across her armor.

She brings her blade up, slicing into the dragon´s neck. The beast howls in pain and anger and she stumbles to her feet, taking a second to study the Archdemon. Its unblinking yellow eyes regards her with unbridled evil. It is hard to imagine that this was once an Old God.

Then, with both her hands firmly on the hilt of her blade she raises it above her head and brings it down into the dragon´s skull. With an angry curse, she throws all her weight onto the blade and it cuts through the the thick scales, through layers of muscles until she feels her arms burn with pain as the sword slides into the creature´s skull. She holds on, unable to let go as malicious energy cackles through the gaping wound and slithers across her blade and down the demon´s neck. Pure, white, heat cascades around her, funneling around her body. She cries out in pain as she feels her leather gloves melt into her skin, and the smell of her hair burning makes her retch. But she holds on, her body ablaze with pain and fire, her eyes filling with tears of agony as the white light brightens- until it blinds her.

A dark shape dances of the peripheral of her vision, flickering and coming together in a humanoid shape that draws closer and closer. Suddenly she feels gentle and calloused hands pry her fingers off the blade and a soft voice says. "You can let go now, Pup."

END PART ONE


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